If It Had Happened Otherwise
by Chi Yagami
Summary: If Tom Riddle had never become Voldemort, if Muggles could steal magic, if the Hogwarts Express left from Platform Nine and One Half... Hermione finds herself in a dangerous place surrounded by familiar faces of the past, but history has changed and she must be careful to hide her Mudblood background from the Ministry, and an increasingly curious Regulus Black.
1. Platform Nine and One Half

**If It Had Happened Otherwise**

* * *

.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

 _"You've probably all had those kinds of dreams that are like usual life, except that a lot of things are not the same, and you seem to know the future in them. Well, this is because these other worlds where two things can happen spread out from our world like rainbows, and sort of flow into one another..."_  
-Diana Wynne Jones

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

 **MUDBLOODS & THE DANGERS THEY POSE TO BRITISH SOCIETY**

 _You may be wondering why you are reading such a ridiculously titled pamphlet. You may also be wondering, 'what is a Mudblood' and 'what sort of dangers do they present'? Do not fret! This single pamphlet shall be your friend and guide with regards to all Mudblood-related concerns._

 **THE MUD-BLOOD**

 _Firstly,_ what _, you may ask, is a Mudblood?_

 _If you do not know what a Mudblood is, consider yourself blessed! We live in such privileged times that a growing number young witches and wizards of today have never before encountered or perhaps even heard of a Mudblood._

 _A Mudblood, quite simply, is an evil Muggle who has managed to steal the magic that rightfully belongs to a witch or wizard. Ghastly, isn't it? How is such a crime even possible, you ask?_

 _Long ago, the witches and wizards of the world lived in peace. Over time, however, Muggles became aware of magic, and they grew jealous of the incredible wonders that it could accomplish. This of course began the centuries-long witch hunts of the Medieval Ages. Fortunately, as you know, these silly hunts barely affected the wizarding population due to our superior knowledge and strength. Witch-hunting eventually died out, only to pave way for a new and horrific path: Blood-Theft._

 _Blood-Theft is the means by which Muggles are stealing our very magic. By drinking the fresh blood of a witch or wizard, Muggles can effectively steal the magic right from us–_

"You have _got_ to be kidding," Hermione scorned. Her companion released a snort so quiet she almost missed it, and she scowled at him before continuing.

 _This is generally easiest for Muggles to achieve when a witch or wizard has not yet outgrown infancy, as it would be nearly impossible for a Muggle to overcome a fully grown witch or wizard. The Blood-Theft ritual does not require all of the magical blood, only a little. A simple cut is enough to steal the magic away from a baby._

 _Reminder that Ministerial Decree No.176 forbids the practice of Blood-Theft, and reporting such illegal monstrosities is mandatory. More under_ **What to do When Faced With A Mudblood** _._

 **DANGERS TO SOCIETY**

 _Mudbloods pose an immediate threat to the witches and wizards of the world. Do you happen to have a Squib in the family? Or perhaps you know someone who is a Squib. For generations, wizards have treated Squibs as Muggle outcasts, failing to recognize the tragedy that has befallen these poor souls. However, today, the witches and wizards of Britain have acknowledged that such Squibs are not outcasts; they are not the result of lacking parentage._

 _Squibs are the direct result of Blood-Theft. When a Muggle steals magic to become a Mudblood, a wizard is sapped of any and all magical abilities, left behind as a destitute Squib. In the past, we did not understand the calamities of these misfortunate Squibs, and so we as a society shunned and punished them. However, we are proud today to stand with our abused brethren and help them assimilate where they will best fit._

She eyed her companion again, until he leaned over to see with which part she was confused. He raised an eyebrow, as if the answer should be obvious, and Hermione pursed her lips until he finally responded. "The Muggle world, of course."

Considering she had just come from a war where Purebloods wanted to dominate Muggles and looked down upon everything non-magical, Hermione felt her confusion justified.

 **HOW TO SPOT A MUDBLOOD**

 _As you know, young witches and wizards should begin to display magical abilities by the age of seven at the latest, and usually no earlier than four, so it can be quite difficult to tell if a child has been robbed of their magical blood right away. However, there are some signs to look for when recognizing a Mudblood has cursed your family._

 _Always examine your child for cuts or scrapes._

 _For those of you choosing to live near Muggle towns... keep an eye and ear out for any_ unusual _activity. Mudbloods tend to flaunt their new magic and brag to each other, so they may let slip something incriminating._

 _Has a witch or wizard recently appeared with no family to speak of? Do they seem suspicious? This could be the sign of a Mudblood trying to infiltrate the wizarding world._

 _Mudbloods can be any age, old or young. Muggles will often steal the blood of a witch or wizard, but then feed it to their child rather than themselves, as a further way to pollute our society secretly._

 _Furthermore, Mudbloods, undoubtedly due to the magic having been stolen, will have inferior magical abilities when compared to a witch or wizard._

 _Most important, and the easiest to spot, Mudbloods have no magical parentage. This is the fundamental reason for Ministerial Decree No.177, which requires witches and wizards to provide Patents of Magical Lineage for schooling, jobs, and other such matters._

 **WHAT TO DO WHEN FACED WITH A MUDBLOOD**

 _Alert the authorities immediately if you happen upon a Mudblood, as they can be dangerous to confront. Armed with evil ideals, Mudbloods may attempt to duel, and their lack of magical control could be deadly, even for a fully grown witch or wizard._

 _Contact the Ministry immediately, and they will send Aurors to apprehend the thieves._ _Failure to report Mudbloods and their activities is punishable by law_ _._

 _Rest assured that Mudbloods face the_ harshest _of punishments. Our dedicated Minister of Magic, Tom Riddle, was one of the first to recognize this evil and warn others of the dangers. The Minister himself examines each case carefully, ensuring the safety of all of Britain._

 **THE IMPORTANCE OF A SAFE SOCIETY IN BRITAIN**

 _While we here in Britain have uncovered the dangers and truths of Mudbloods, it is unfortunate that not every society has. The Americas and Africas in particular are tolerant of these criminals, so beware when traveling abroad to these countries._

 _However, it is with great pride that the Minister of Magic and the Ministry itself can make all witches and wizards here in Britain feel at ease. Aurors are highly trained to detect Mudbloods in every region, and they are always grateful for the tips contributed by witches and wizards such as yourself._

The article went on to give a lengthy list of the names who had contributed to such tips. Hermione flung the pamphlet back at her companion, disgusted.

It was the same garbage Umbridge had drafted during the Second Wizarding War. However, Umbridge's name was not printed anywhere on the pamphlet, which, Hermione had discovered with contempt, was actually issued by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This pamphlet was the latest edition, printed only last year, though it seemed the first edition had been printed as early as 1952.

Her entire situation was preposterous... and dangerous. Hermione would swear she was dreaming, trapped in nightmare where Muggle-borns were persecuted by a society _without_ Lord Voldemort, though she supposed he was still a driving force behind it. Learning that Tom Riddle was the current Minister of Magic was certainly a shock, but more so the fact that he had kept his Muggle name. The persona of Lord Voldemort didn't seem to exist here, and perhaps instead Tom Riddle had followed expectations and gone into the Ministry straight out of Hogwarts. Hermione supposed he must still posses all the charm and persuasive abilities of Voldemort, and he had used them to influence the Ministry into hunting Muggle-borns.

It was interesting to note, however, that Muggles themselves were not being persecuted. She wondered if Riddle planned to get to that eventually, or if perhaps there was just an abundance of Muggle-borns to force his evil plans upon. She was also surprised to read that Squibs were viewed as 'tragic' and 'unfortunate', although Hermione suspected that Squibs were more of a means to an end for Riddle, rather than true sympathy.

She wondered how Argus Filch had fared.

Hermione knew her companion was waiting for her to say something; he had probably noticed the way she was practically gnawing off her lower lip, biting back scathing remarks. However, she didn't know _what_ to say or how to explain herself. Unless she wanted to be declared mentally unstable, telling him she came from a different timeline was out of the picture.

* * *

.

* * *

Her morning had started off fairly well. After feeling unsure over the past few months, Hermione had finally come to terms with her decision to return to Hogwarts for her seventh year.

She had spent most of the summer at the Burrow, spending time with Harry and Ron. The Golden Trio had spent so much time together over the past year, they were quite reluctant to separate, even if the war had officially been declared over and Voldemort was undeniably dead. Many a night, Hermione had found herself creeping into Harry or Ron's bed, only relaxing when Harry's hand found hers, or when Ron's arm wrapped around her middle. The nightmares didn't follow her there.

Loath as she was to admit it, Hermione preferred the nights when she could crawl under Harry's comforter. It wasn't that she wanted to be in his bed in a romantic sense, but there was something between Hermione and her best friend that couldn't quite compare. She didn't have a proper name for this, though _safety, belonging,_ and _family_ all applied. Something carried over from their days together in the tent, and though they never discussed it, she knew Harry understood.

This was not to say she didn't want to be in Ron's bed, but circumstances occasionally made the situation... awkward. He was her second best friend, and Hermione knew he would never press the issue. But Ron's feelings ran a bit deeper than friendship, and those nights when his arms wrapped her around her, Hermione knew he was left wanting something more. She had wanted it, too, once, when they had kissed during the battle, the pressures of war causing her to make her affections known. However, after things had grown calm, Hermione found herself almost dreading any sort of dating relationship, although she had trouble explaining exactly why. Ron had given up asking for reasons, feelings hurt, even if he understood that she needed time. And after one night of hesitation and apologies, Ron had told her to budge up and get under the covers, and had swept his own feelings under the rug for the time being.

Hermione appreciated it more than she could say.

The boys had both accompanied her in early June to retrieve her parents from Australia. Although her parents were proud to have a daughter who was known as a war hero, they were equally as furious at her dangerous actions, not to mention wiping their memories. So the Granger family had decided that some further separation was in order while the dentists tried to get their lives in Britain back together. Hermione understood, but it didn't hurt any less. The parents she had spent a year worrying over had ignored her even once they remembered. Harry and Ron had been there for her, and the three had spent the remainder of the summer at the Burrow with Ginny and the rest of the Weasley family, recovering from injuries and hiding from the press.

Not to mention holding Fred's funeral, though Hermione hastily pushed that memory away. It wouldn't do to begin crying after reading an Anti-Muggle-born pamphlet, in a train compartment with someone she didn't trust.

That particular morning, she and Ginny had dragged their trunks downstairs and loaded them into Arthur Weasley's ministry car, driven by an Auror Hermione had not recognized. Harry and Ron decided to go into training late that day, so that they could see the girls off to their seventh year at Hogwarts. George and Percy were there too, looking around every so often, and Hermione wondered if they were there for protection rather than a simple send-off.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a group of Voldemort supporters had Apparated right there in the train station. The Muggles around them shrieked in fright, scattering away from Platforms 9 and 10. The intruders weren't donning Death Eater cloaks and masks, but Hermione was sure she recognized one of them as a Snatcher. Before the first one could even lift a wand, Harry had thrown a Shield Charm around her. With several _cracks_ , she realized Percy had left and returned with a handful of Aurors. They immediately began dueling the Snatchers.

Hermione's body acted on instinct, firing off Stunning Spells left and right. Their attackers would have been unable to Apparate inside Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, as new wards were in place after the war, and so they had chosen to ambush the group in the main part of King's Cross. However, they didn't seem interested in killing Muggles, as most of their attacks were aimed at Harry Potter. _Of course_.

" _Take the girls and go!"_ Mrs. Weasley had ordered of Ron and Harry. Although Harry was known to have a bit of a hero complex, he surprised Hermione by nodding his head and turning to protect Ginny. He and the redhead disappeared through the barrier, and Ron made to follow with Hermione.

He was ushering her from behind, and she turned to glance over her shoulder for danger. That was when she saw a bright orange curse heading straight for them. She shoved Ron to the ground and then ducked, still running and pushing her luggage cart in front. The curse sailed over her head and struck the wall between Platforms 9 and 10, and the barrier hissed and crackled under the dark magic.

Hermione didn't even have a chance to swerve before both she and her cart had passed through the barrier and onto the train platform. Moody surely would have berated her for touching anything that hissed with dark magic, but Hermione had simply had too much momentum to stop in time. Of course, that didn't stop her from blaming herself later and wondering why she, Harry, Ron, and Ginny hadn't simply Apparated back to the Burrow. Or to Hogsmeade. It was a moment that would haunt her for quite some time.

* * *

Compared to the battle that had raged in King's Cross, the platform seemed eerily quiet. Parents hugged their children goodbye. Older students helped the younger ones load their trunks onto the Hogwarts Express. Owls hooted from within their cages. And yet, Hermione felt the atmosphere to be a bit... dark. _But what did you expect,_ she asked herself, knowing that this sort of behavior would happen after a war. Students were returning to a place where one of the deadliest battles of the century had occurred. Many families had lost children and relatives during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Even so... Hermione had a strange sense of foreboding that caused her arm hairs to stand on end. She chalked it up to a year on the run; her sense of safety just hadn't returned yet.

Although, as Hermione pushed her cart towards the train, for children who had been scarred and tortured by the Carrows last year, the people around her actually seemed to be in high spirits. She glanced around for Harry and Ginny but could not find them; she found it odd that they would have left to find a compartment without her, especially with what was happening back behind the barrier. She turned around to see if anyone had followed, if Ron was okay, and her breath caught in her throat.

There, above the iron archway, was an old sign which read, _Platform Nine and One Half._

Hermione stared at it, gaping stupidly for almost a full minute. "Platform Nine and One Half?" she mumbled to herself. "Someone having a laugh?"

She had to find Harry and Ginny, quickly. That bad feeling was creeping over her again and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

She charmed her trunk to be feather-light; she was, after all, of age and legally able to do so. Not that her trunk was too heavy to begin with, however, seeing as most of her things were still locked away inside the beaded bag at her hip. Immediate things belonging to Harry and Ron had been given back, though she still needed to properly sort through it all. She had a feeling a few old Weasley jumpers, among other things, were still buried in the depths of her purse.

Carrying her trunk in one hand, she boarded the train and began looking for Harry. Hermione had expected to find him trapped among a circle of admirers, unless Ginny had hexed them all away. She also would have been lying if she hadn't expected to get a bit of attention herself, but it seemed as if every student appeared to be staring at her, a wave of curiosity passing over many of the compartments as she walked by. She was nearing the end of the train and had yet to find Harry, and Hermione's dread was increasing tenfold.

She came upon the very last cabin and sighed with relief, having spotted the black-haired, bespectacled boy.

Hermione wrenched the door open. "Oh thank Merlin, Harry, I was beginning to panic–" She paused as she took in the full compartment.

All three occupants were staring at her with visible degrees of shock. A small, stocky boy sat to her right, clutching a bag of Chocolate Frogs in his hands. He blushed under her gaze before glancing at the other two sitting across from him. The boy furthest from her stared back with interest, rather than the rude gaping of the other two, and Hermione noted the shiny badge over his Hogwarts robes, which he had already changed into. Finally her gaze shifted to Harry, whose eyebrows had rose up far under his dark brown hair.

 _Dark brown?_

Hazel eyes stared back at her from behind oval glasses, and Hermione sucked in her next breath of air so fast she began to choke.

This was not Harry Potter. Harry would not be sitting and chatting with friends without any other care in the world, as Harry was not returning to Hogwarts. Harry would not be staring at her as if he did not recognize her. Harry would have been kissing Ginny Weasley goodbye at the least, though she suspected he would have been waiting for her right at the platform barrier, to make sure she was safe before dashing back through to help Ron and the others.

Hermione and Not-Harry-Potter regarded each other for a long minute before the boy in the back decided to break the silence.

"Do you know her, James?"

Her attention snapped to Remus Lupin at once, his voice still discernible after all this time. They had buried his body, with Tonks's, over the summer as well, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Hermione was surprised she hadn't recognized him upon first glance. Though she assumed it probably had to do with the lack of scars marring his face. He had called Not-Harry 'James' hadn't he? Oh Merlin. And the round boy could only be Peter Pettigrew. Three of the four Marauders... just what had she gotten herself into? Remus Lupin stood and the other two followed suit.

Her eyes practically popped out of their sockets. She had to get out of here, and fast. Hermione didn't know exactly what was happening, but the mantra of _You must not be seen_ repeated over and over in her mind. Unfortunately for her, Hermione felt the train shift and begin to leave the station at that exact moment. Bloody hell! She had to find Harry, if he was even here, and he couldn't possibly still be on the train right? And what about the others, had they even cared what had happened to her–

"I've never seen her in my life," Not-Harry responded coldly, and all three boys narrowed their eyes. She saw Lupin reach for his wand, as if he considered her a threat. How silly! Except that none of the boys were smiling, and all three were drawing their wands.

"Ah, there you are," drawled a quiet voice. Only months on the run of never turning her back on a wand prevented Hermione from looking over her shoulder at the newcomer. Instead, she reflexively fingered her own wand hidden in her pocket.

A pale hand gripped her arm painfully before dragging her away from the compartment, her luggage banging against the wall as she went. "Come along, no need to get involved with that _riffraff_."

The Marauders' suspicion turned to rage at her savior, but Hermione was led down the corridor before anything else could happen. She was tempted to issue a thank you, but her new friend suddenly shoved her inside an open compartment before slamming the door, wordlessly casting an Anti-Alohamora charm that, despite the situation, was still impressive, and pressing his wand to her throat.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul you off to the Head Girl," he threatened icily.

Hermione's jaw dropped. _Severus Snape!?_ She had never seen the teenaged professor from the Pensieve memories, but Harry had described everything in detail to his two best friends over the summer. The young Snape looked every bit as greasy and sallow-faced as Harry had implied, and his black eyes were full of suspicion and, if she was not mistaken, hatred.

If it weren't for the matter of _wrong place, wrong time, let's not change history_ , Hermione would have shown Severus Snape just exactly how well she could execute his own _Levicorpus_ spell.

Wait–

"Head Girl?" repeated Hermione. She may have heard it all second-hand, but she was confident in remembering that Lily Potter (Evans at the time, she corrected herself) had been Head Girl in 1977, and she and Snape had long since dissolved their friendship back in fifth year. And judging by they boys' appearances, they all looked to be about seventh years.

"Seeing as the Head Boy back there was indulging himself on chocolate and idiocy," Snape retorted acidly, and with a jolt Hermione recalled that James Potter had been Head Boy (no wonder Snape didn't want to report her to him), "Head Girl Selwyn is my best option, even if she is vapid and vain."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "Head Girl... Selwyn...?"

Snape's lips drew into a thin line; it seemed even in his early days he loathed to repeat himself. "Yes, that's what I said," he replied darkly, his wand digging into her skin. "Are you _deaf_?"

She ignored his antics, the need to correct his wrong information too strong. "I thought the Head Girl was Lily Evans?"

Snape's face, if possible, grew even paler and his eyes widened with surprise, but he did not lower his wand. " _What do you know_ ," he whispered with aggression, " _of Lily Evans?_ "

Hermione narrowed her eyes in turn. "Perhaps if you lower your wand and stop treating me like a criminal," she offered, rolling her eyes, "I will tell you." Snape looked unconvinced. "It's not like I can make a run for it, seeing as how you've locked the door."

Snape was mildly impressed she had recognized his nonverbal spell, if his raised eyebrows were any indication. After another moment, he drew back his wand and stepped away, though the suspicion was still there. Hermione rubbed her throat where Snape's wand had no doubt left a red mark, before she set down her luggage and sat on the bench behind her. "You may as well get comfortable," she told him, although Snape was someone unlikely to get comfortable in front of an enemy. However, he unexpectedly sat down as well, his body tense and wand ready in case she tried anything.

Hermione knew she had to be careful about this. Something was definitely _wrong_. Not only was she surrounded by younger versions of people who were supposed to be _dead_ , but the way Snape had questioned her about Lily, as if it were some great, taboo secret... The wrongly named train platform came to mind.

Where on earth was she?

"I... I thought Lily Evans would be Head Girl," Hermione said at last. She spoke in a soft, confused voice, and hoped to portray her future knowledge as suspicions, rather than absolute facts. Awful things happened to wizards who messed with time, and although Hermione had a few guesses about her situation, until they were proven true, she had to act as if she had been thrown back in time and anything she said or did could alter future events. Best to ask questions and let Snape reveal the truth in turn.

Snape, who had still been eyeing her warily up until then, actually glanced at his feet with what Hermione could only conclude to be guilt. The silence dragged on, but Snape almost seemed to be arguing with himself, clenching his teeth.

He finally looked at her with a carefully schooled expression. His tone, however, was that of a haunted man. "Lily Evans is dead."

Hermione didn't bother to contain the horror and shock that had spilled across her face. _Lily Evans was dead_. How was this possible!? If she hadn't heard everything Harry had said about Snape being in love with his mother for years, she would have thought the boy across from her was playing a sick joke. However, the Snape sitting across from her had a sad look in his eyes, his shoulders hunched around himself as he watched Hermione's emotions play out on her face. He was not lying, that much she could tell, even if he was so good at deception and had managed to trick Voldemort, Hermione would stake her books that the boy in front of her _now_ was telling the truth.

And what did this mean for _Harry_? Hermione grew sick at the thought of her best friend never being born. Had she caused this? Had her arrival in this time somehow thrown everything off? Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth, forcing down the bile and tears that threatened to spill forth.

Snape watched her. "You didn't know."

She shook her head, even though he hadn't meant it as a question. She took deep breaths and tried to calm down. She had to get to the bottom of this; clearly this was all wrong, and it wouldn't do to hyperventilate. Right now, Hermione needed answers, and she latched onto her thirst for knowledge, pushing all of the other emotions away for the time being.

"How?" she asked, her voice cracking despite her new resolve.

Severus Snape studied her for a bit longer, before he stood and reached overhead for his trunk. Hermione watched him warily; she didn't think he was going to attack her, but after months of war, she couldn't help the uneasiness that was practically a second nature to her now. Snape, for his part, merely removed a piece of parchment from his trunk before sitting down again.

"You're not from around here," he said quietly, again stating rather than asking. He glanced nervously at the door when several people passed by.

Wondering why he hadn't done so himself, Hermione cast a nonverbal, wandless _Muffliato_ at the door. Severus Snape couldn't contain his fascination this time, but it wasn't for the wandless reason she had expected.

"What was that spell?" he asked curiously.

 _Well, that's different_ , she thought. Considering Snape was the one who had invented it.

"A charm that prevents passersby from overhearing our conversation," she explained.

Snape's shoulders dropped with the tiniest hint of relaxation. "Good," he replied, before continuing with a hiss, "because what we're about discuss will never leave this compartment, do you understand?"

She nodded solemnly. "I understand." Then she narrowed her gaze. "That goes for you as well, however."

"Obviously," he said dryly. He handed her the parchment he'd retrieved earlier, which turned out to be some sort of pamphlet.

"What's this?" asked Hermione, but then she caught sight of the title.

Snape took in her bulging eyes and shaking hands. "You're clearly not from around here... so I thought you might find it... _illuminating_."

* * *

.

* * *

The scar on Hermione's left arm was burning by the time she had finished reading.

She stopped chewing on her lip and gasped. "Lily," she whispered in understanding, looking to Snape fearfully. He nodded, appearing decidedly guilty again.

She choked back a sob, glancing at the horrible pamphlet that lay on the seat next to Snape. _Where the bloody hell am I?_ she thought, her mind racing. Hunting Muggle-borns was legal here. How many people like Lily Evans were gone? The Creevey brothers, Justin Finch-Fletchley... they weren't born yet, Hermione supposed, but they would have grim lives in the future. Dirk Cresswell and Mary Macdonald had surely met similar fates as Lily. And for what, because the wizarding population was ignorant enough to believe that Muggles could _steal_ magic... through Blood-Theft, of all things? It was entirely ridiculous!

However, this did pose a serious problem for Hermione. She was a Muggle-born. She was a bloody brilliant witch, but if this society went around checking people for, what did they call it, _patents of magical lineage_... she didn't have one. And while Hermione was sure that she could take on a teenage Snape if he tried to turn her in, she didn't fancy having a department of Aurors, or even Voldemort himself, chasing her down.

Severus Snape, meanwhile, still had a frightful air of guilt about him.

Hermione peered at him. "Oh Merlin... Please tell me you didn't..."

But in her own time, hadn't Snape called Lily a Mudblood and betrayed her friendship? It seemed only fitting, in a sick and twisted way, that he had betrayed her here in this universe, too.

Snape flinched. "I... I..." But Hermione was not having any of it.

"I can't believe you! You turned her in to the Ministry?" she screeched, repulsed. Harry Potter would never be born, because Severus Snape had reported Lily's Muggle parentage to Voldemort. She should hex him something awful. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she gripped her wand tightly. "Let me guess," she spat, her emotions flaring out of control, "you called her a Mudblood in front of the entire school after she tried to stand up for you?"

Snape was taken aback. "What? No, I would never!" argued the teen professor, standing and towering over Hermione. "I would have protected her! I would have taken care of her if..." His anger gave way to grief, and Snape sank back against the cushions, his face buried in his hands.

Hermione bit her lip again, watching the distressed boy try to hide his tears. From what he had just said, the confrontation during fifth year clearly hadn't taken place. He had openly admitted, to a stranger, that he would have protected Lily. Hermione frowned. Snape never admitted anything to anyone. He had also saved her from the Marauders and claimed to know she wasn't from around here (although to what extend, she could not yet tell). And as awful as the pamphlet made Mudbloods out to be, Severus Snape regretted whatever had happened to cause Lily's death. He was not as cold as the professor who had sneered at her cursed teeth, at least not yet. Perhaps there was still some good in this Severus Snape.

She dug through her beaded bag. She had long since given back the photo albums Harry had hidden in there, but Hermione had made copies, backups in case the originals were lost or damaged. This went against everything she had ever been taught about Time-Turners and time traveling, but then, she wasn't exactly dealing with either of those, was she? Still, she had to be careful with her knowledge of the future, even if most of it wouldn't come to pass.

Snape glanced up as she tugged the photo album out of her purse, eyeing it with suspicion. Hermione flipped through the pages, looking for the best one. She wasn't quite willing to tell Snape that she was from a different future, so any photos involving James or baby Harry were out. And she didn't know exactly when Lily had been... _found out_ , so any photos of her at Hogwarts would be a risk. Of course, many of the photos of Lily at Hogwarts were with James in their seventh year, and seeing as how Snape mentioned earlier that James was Head Boy, she concluded the Mauraders were entering their seventh and final year, thus ultimately rendering such pictures useless anyway.

Unfortunately, there were hardly any photos of Lily Evans as a child in the album. Such photos would have been Muggle stills, and likely belonged to her parents. Hermione doubted Harry's horrible Aunt Petunia had kept any, and if she had, she certainly wouldn't have shared them with Harry.

Was Petunia even still alive now? Or had the Aurors killed the entire Evans family?

Hermione felt sick.

She swallowed and returned to photo hunting. After double checking that the photo she'd miraculously found contained nothing suspicious, she tapped it with her wand and duplicated it, taking the picture in one hand and putting the album back into her bag with the other.

She held the photo out for Snape to take, and he reached for it tentatively. However, spotting the familiar red hair, he grabbed it greedily and stared.

Lily had to be around eight or nine years old. The photo had been taken in front of the Statue of Liberty in America, probably during an Evans family vacation. She was hanging from the railing, looking out over the water and pointing excitedly at the statue. Despite the despair that still gripped him, Hermione saw the briefest hint of a smile on Severus Snape's lips.

He looked to Hermione, confused. "But how..." He blinked in recognition. "You're the witch from America."

Hermione played it safe, neither confirming or denying his statement, and instead she waited for him to offer an explanation.

"Lily mentioned she had met someone while on vacation in America, someone like _her_ , someone who could do strange things," explained Snape, gazing fondly at the photo. "I assumed she was referring to an actual American, but you are clearly British."

She nodded, waiting for him to say more. Snape, however, seemed content to simply stare at the photo in wonder for the rest of the train ride. But Hermione had other concerns she needed Snape to address.

"So... what happened to her?" she asked softly.

Snape gripped the photo tightly, and Hermione was worried he might not answer her at all. He threw her another hesitant glance, and she in turn smiled back. "I won't tell, I swear." She bit her lip and threw a little of her caution to the wind. "Lily was my friend, too. Please... I need to know."

His jaw had clenched at the word _friend_ , but then he nodded.

It had been just after Snape's eleventh birthday, and a week or two before Lily's, when they had met in a park between their houses. Unlike the story that Harry had told Hermione, Petunia Evans had not been present this time. Snape and Lily became friends at once, with Snape easing Lily's fears of magic. He had filled her head with stories of Diagon Ally and Hogwarts, and she had listened in wonder. "She asked me if having non-magical parents would be a problem," Snape informed Hermione bitterly. "If she would be treated any different." His voice cracked. "I should have told her... I should have warned her how wizards really felt about... Muggles with magic." Snape moaned. "Oh, but I didn't, I couldn't! She was the only friend I'd ever had, and who was I to ruin that perfect moment? How could I possibly tell her that the government here _punished_ Mudbloods? No, I was an idiot. I lied, reassuring her everything would be fine."

He had tried to reassure himself, too. Lily was such a brilliant witch, he'd thought; her magic was beyond that of a normal eleven-year-old, so surely they wouldn't think her an inferior Mudblood. The child Snape had reasoned that, if Lily had a wand, perhaps they wouldn't think on it much at all. Mudbloods could only acquire a wand if they stole one from a wizard, and Snape had had the perfect idea to take Lily with him to Diagon Ally to purchase her very own wand.

Except that the plan had backfired. Having two children unaccompanied by parents was suspicious enough, but Ollivander had asked to see Lily's patent before he measured her for a wand. Snape had been unaware that the wandmaker would require such a thing, and to his horror, Ollivander had summoned the authorities.

Lily was taken away without question, never seen or heard from again.

Both Hermione and Snape were crying by the end of the story, though the latter hastily wiped away his tears once he noticed. Hermione thought that Snape was actually a very good friend. No, the plan wasn't well thought out in hindsight, but he had only been eleven. He had taken her to Diagon Ally with good intentions. _"I would have taken care of her if..."_ If she had gone to Hogwarts, that was what Snape had meant to say. And Hermione didn't doubt it. With no Death Eaters to gravitate to in this universe, Severus Snape may have very well turned out much differently, especially if Lily had stayed in his life.

After more gentle coaxing, Snape proceeded to explain that he had held out hope for a while. He had thought perhaps that Lily would get some sort of fair trial, or be sent away to a different part of the world that accepted Mudbloods. However, after two years of hearing nothing, he had finally begged an older Prefect Lucius Malfoy to use his father's ministry connections and find out exactly what they had done with Lily.

She had been thrown in Azkaban with no trial, where she died a short while later. The remaining Evans family members had been tracked down as well, and while Lucius hadn't told him what had happened to the Muggles, Snape was fairly certain they were also dead, likely to have been viewed as the enablers of Lily's Blood-Theft.

Hermione was sure that, had she not experienced far worse in her own life, her true feelings on everything Snape had told her would have come out in a highly aggressive and passionate manner. If Harry and Ron thought she went overboard with S.P.E.W., that had nothing on these Anti-Muggle-born laws.

"You don't really think that Lily was capable of drinking blood, do you?" Hermione asked with conviction. "You said so yourself, she was a brilliant witch and a sweet girl. I don't believe for a second she stole anyone's magic."

Not that it was even possible, but she kept that to herself.

"Careful," Snape muttered, "that sort of talk can be considered treason."

She glared at him. "You know I'm from America," she argued, going along with the history he had assumed. "Yes, I was born here and lived here for a few years, but we moved to America and I was raised there until recently. You know that Americans have different views on... _Mudbloods_ than you lot do."

The word tasted vile in her own mouth, but Hermione had yet to hear Snape say 'Muggle-born' so she assumed that title must not exist here.

"I should have told her to move to America," Snape regretted. "She would have been safe there; she would still be _alive_. Instead, I led her straight into the lion's den! I should have done more... I should have saved her." He hung his head in shame.

Hermione's hand twitched at her side; she wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she didn't think Snape would take kindly to the physical contact and would probably see it as pity.

"You didn't know. You were just a child," she reminded him at last. "You tried to help; that's all you could have done. I know Lily appreciated it... and appreciated your friendship."

Severus Snape did not respond, but he did close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Outside the window, the Scottish countryside rolled past, and Hermione guessed they would be at the school in two or three hours.

She needed a plan. She couldn't show up randomly at Hogwarts, with no invitation, no patents, and no knowledge of this universe. They would likely accuse her of stealing magic, even if she _did_ have a wand, and then they'd cart her off to Azkaban like Lily Evans and so many others. Not that Hermione would be captured so easily, but she wasn't looking for a fight. As horrific and disturbing as this place was, she knew she had to choose her battles. She couldn't stand up for Muggle-borns and win when the entire Ministry was against her. For now, she had to just lay low and figure out a way to get back to her own place... and time.

Albus Dumbledore would be her first choice for help, but Hermione was not sure she could trust even him. For all she knew, here Dumbledore could be a Muggle-hating bigot. Still, she didn't have many other options. She had to gain Dumbledore's trust enough for him to accept her into Hogwarts. She would be safe behind the school walls, where she could use the vast library to research alternate timelines. However, in order to even get into the school, she would need help.

She eyed Snape, who was still wallowing in guilt and gazing longingly at the photo of Lily Evans. Hermione cleared her throat.

"It may be too late to save Lily, but I... I could really use your help."

* * *

.

* * *

 _._

 _Why am I starting something new when I have a ton of stories to finish? My muse seems to think it's the right idea._

 _So. Yes. Another Hermione in the Marauders' Era time-travel fanfiction. Of a sort, at least. Some things will be a bit different, but other things will be the same. When I started planning this, the story could have gone to three different pairings: Hermione/James, Hermione/Sirius, or Hermione/Regulus. While there will be hints of the other two, though not enough to warrant an actual pairing, mind you, the end game is Hermione/Regulus because that is what the story dictated. I know it's not the most popular pairing, but it is one of my personal favorites. I know there are a million other time-travel stories out there, and I have only read a handful of them, but I don't believe this sort of plot exists for HG/RB. Rest assured the Marauders will be featured heavily!_

 _This story is unbeta'd and may have typos, my apologies in advance._

 _Chapter 2 is finished and in editing, and it will be posted as soon as I finish chapter 3. Not sure how long this story will be, but definitely over 10 chapters I should think._

 _The title of this story refers to the collection of alternate histories edited together by J. C. Squire._


	2. A Patent of Magical Lineage

**If It Had Happened Otherwise**

* * *

.

* * *

CHAPTER TWO  


 _"If a coin comes down heads, that means that the possibility of its coming down tails has collapsed. Until that moment the two possibilities were equal. But on another world, it does come down tails. And when that happens, the two worlds split apart."_  
-Philip Pullman

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

"This is insane," Severus Snape muttered, pouring over the parchment on the floor of the train compartment.

 _You're telling me,_ Hermione groaned inwardly, already sick of the _A History of Magic_ book in her hands. It was revolting and horrifyingly different from the copy hidden within her beaded bag. She had already finished reading _Modern Magical History, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, Magic In North America,_ and _Mudbloods and How to Spot Them._ So many things from her own time either did not exist, had not yet been discovered, or had been changed.

Grindelwald had never been expelled from Durmstrang, and he had instead tried and failed to bring down the Statute of Secrecy in Germany _in order to help Muggles by lending them magic_ , a chapter Hermione had to read twice before she believed it. Grindelwald had been defeated in 1950 by none other than British Auror _Tom Riddle_ , something Hermione figured had helped him win the election for Prime Minister a year later. Germany now had some of the harshest laws concerning Muggles, going so far as to kill rather than Obliviate if necessary. Certain islands of Japan were for wizards only, and had decrees stating that _Muggle-hunting was legal_.

Hermione had checked the books, which she had borrowed from Snape, at least five times before confirming with the boy himself that things such as _Legilimency_ and _Veritaserum_ did not actually exist at all. Vampires and dementors were merely children's fairytales, and the word _Lycanthropy_ was not found in any book anywhere. Likewise, there were no records of the Triwizard Tournament or the ability of Parseltongue (although Slytherin House was still represented by a snake). And nearly every book, aside from the American ones, described Muggle-borns as thieves who needed to be purged from the wizarding world. She was certain Snape found her questions to be idiotic and unnecessary, and without a doubt he had concluded her American home-schooling to be sorely lacking. Hermione didn't push the issue; she was simply grateful Snape carried around as many books as he did.

"Are you sure you want to go with the last name Granger?" he asked again. "It's not exactly a wizard name. People will suspect you of being a Mudblood." He had been extremely suspicious of her Mudblood status upon exchanging names and pleasantries, but she had quickly thought up a fake backstory.

Hermione threw the book into the pile with the others. "I told you," she said, rolling her eyes, "I am _not_ a Mudblood. I am a descendant of Hector Dagworth-Granger."

Neither of which were entirely true, but Snape didn't need to know that. Hermione could only guess that perhaps Hector (in her own time) had produced a Squib in his family line somewhere, which had eventually led to her birth and magical abilities, but there was no evidence to support the theory. She also wouldn't call herself a Mudblood, if she were to play by their rules here, seeing as how she had never _stolen_ anything.

"You're just lucky he died over a century ago, so there's a considerable gap of time I can manipulate," muttered Snape, his nose practically rubbing against the parchment he was drafting.

He had been reluctant to help at first, even with the guilt of Lily's death hanging over him. Hermione suspected he did not want to get involved out of fear of being arrested for helping a Mudblood (which she was _not_ , as she had to keep reminding him). However, in the end, Snape had agreed to smuggle her into Hogwarts to see Albus Dumbledore, and _that was all_. _"I wash my hands of you after that, do you hear?"_ he had promised.

He had lent her a pile of books so she could catch up on the history and laws of Britain. Hermione had requested anything he might happen to own on North America as well ("for comparisons," she had told him, when he had questioned her need for books on the country she'd supposedly come from), because if she was going to pretend to have lived there for an amount of time, she needed to be familiar with those laws as well. She found it highly amusing to learn that American wizards called their Muggles 'No-Majs', and was surprised to find that, while the current American wizarding community was welcoming of Mudbloods, in the past the country had been one of the most segregated and secluded.

Severus Snape, meanwhile, was drawing up a Patent of Magical Lineage for one Hermione (Dagworth-)Granger. It was extremely difficult work, not to mention completely illegal, as the document had to be infused with magic, reminding Hermione of the Black Family Tapestry. Snape had explained that real patents were imbibed with magic from every generation of the family, something he simply could not do. Instead, he would provide a magical seal of his own creation for Hector and his closer descendants, while Hermione provided hers for her father and grandfather, and their magic would meet halfway and mix.

"If the Ministry runs a check on this... they'll know immediately," he said, and Hermione thought he almost sounded apologetic. "I'm sure there's another patent or object somewhere with Hector Dagworth-Granger's magical identity, and while I deserve an Order of Merlin for this magical feat I am pulling together, it will not hold up if they become suspicious of you."

Hermione smiled at how proud he was of his document, though she couldn't help but snort at his words. "Sorry," she replied when he had threatened to throw her out for not appreciating his work, "Severus, I am very thankful for all of your help, and I am certain that this is some very advanced-level magic. I just highly doubt the Ministry would award you for helping a supposed Mudblood."

Snape grunted in acknowledgment. "All my talents... going to waste. You'd better not get caught."

"And you're sure Dumbledore will help me?" she asked again, giving up on the books completely and joining Snape on the floor. She began prodding the document with her wand, following his instructions on how to lend it her magical seal. Hermione felt incredibly lucky to have her own vinewood wand with her, rather than Bellatrix's walnut one. Snape had implied that magical seals worked best when performed with a wizard's own wand, and that a seal created with a borrowed one would be very weak. Hermione had lost her wand after the Snatchers had taken her, Harry, and Ron to Malfoy Maner. She had thought it gone forever until Draco Malfoy had visited the Burrow one July afternoon, unannounced and unexpected. He had thrust the wood back into her hand and Disapparated without a word, but Hermione understood it was his way of apologizing.

Snape rolled his eyes at her repeated question.

"Definitely. That Muggle-lover will be only oh-too-happy to protect you, I can almost guarantee it," the boy said in a bitter tone. "He may not show it, but that old codger has been fond of Muggles for decades. I'm sure Dumbledore would let Mudbloods attend if he could, though it will never happen with the current Ministry decrees. If I had been able to get Lily there..." He trailed off dejectedly. "The Ministry oversees who get Hogwarts letters though, so it will never happen. However, since you are a Half-Blood, I'm sure you'll be fine."

His tone implied that he didn't believe her one bit, but Hermione ignored him. She was too relieved that this Dumbledore was still a good person, that he wasn't a Pureblood fanatic and whatever other theories her mind had been conjuring. However, she was still extremely nervous. In order to see Professor Dumbledore before the Sorting Ceremony, she would have to make her way inside the school quickly. Snape had let her borrow his owl to send a letter ahead to the Headmaster, but she didn't know if it would arrive in time or if Dumbledore would even see it.

Her plan wasn't completely thought-out yet, and Hermione could admit to herself that it still needed some fine-tuning, but she was confident in her decision to attend Hogwarts as a seventh year student. She was ready to play the part, having been on her way to Hogwarts back in her own time, and with the fake background Hermione was inventing, something steeped in truth would be a welcomed counterbalance. Setting aside the problem of gaining Dumbledore's trust and admission to the school, this plan was the perfect cover while Hermione researched a way to get back to her own timeline. She was positive her journey to 1977, albeit a warped one, had something to do with the orange curse that had struck the barrier at King's Cross. She would need to acquire permission to peruse the Restricted Section, as such a spell was probably Dark Magic, but her swotty know-it-all teacher's-pet self had never had too much issue achieving this in the past. Or was that the future now? Did it even matter considering she had crossed into an alternative universe? Hermione decided to not question it further, lest she develop a headache, and as she was about to sneak her way into school, she felt it best to have a fully focused mind.

She had charmed her school books to reflect boring old guides and texts, things surely to be left alone should anyone manage to find them. Snape had allowed her to duplicate his textbooks for the seventh years, as Hermione couldn't very well walk into classes with books full of spells, potions, and knowledge that didn't exist, even if they were charmed to look like something else; Snape of course was merely under the impression that her old books had been outdated American texts. She had removed her Gryffindor ties and jumpers, stuffing them into her beaded bag (something Snape had watched with open fascination, though she'd been careful to shield the red and gold colors from view while doing so), and all of her robes had been reverted to their original black, hiding any and all lion emblems.

Hermione wished she had Harry's Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map, but both objects were back with their rightful owner. She did, however, still have a multitude of books from both Dumbledore's and the Black family's collection, and she intended to thoroughly browse them during her free time, along with Hogwarts's vast literary selection.

By the time a fifteen-minute arrival announcement was made, Snape and Hermione had finished their work. Her brand new Patent of Magical Lineage was rolled and carefully stored in her beaded bag. Most students left them in their trunks, but as Hermione was a newcomer, Snape recommended she keep it on her person at all times.

"I can't thank you enough," she told him earnestly, rechecking her trunk.

Snape frowned, making sure his own things were in order. "Don't thank me at all. This wasn't for you."

Hermione smiled softly. "I know. It was for _her_."

The protection he had never been able to give to Lily Evans... Severus Snape was bestowing it upon Hermione Granger now. In return, she had gifted him the snapshot of Lily, and she had even charmed it so that no one else would question why he owned a picture of a little girl. "If anyone ever does find it at the bottom of your trunk, all they will see is a signed photo of our _esteemed_ Minister of Magic," she had informed him.

All too soon, the Hogwarts Express was pulling into Hogsmeade and students were beginning to disembark. Not wanting to be associated, Snape would leave the compartment first, and Hermione would exit the train sometime later, joining the end of the throng of students.

Snape collected his luggage with one hand, before holding the other out towards her. "Dagworth-Granger," he nodded, bidding farewell and waiting for a handshake.

She clasped his pale hand in hers, before yanking Snape to her. Hermione threw her arms around him in a tight hug, not caring if it made him uncomfortable or if he swore under his breath he would hex her. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, before pulling away.

Snape tried to glare at her murderously, but the effect was somewhat diluted due to the faint blush dusting his cheeks. Then with a swish of his robes, he had canceled the locking charm and left the compartment, sweeping down the corridor with the rest of the students.

Hermione took deep, slow breaths. _You can do this, you can do this._ All she had to do was exit the train and climb into one of the waiting carriages. One step at a time.

The thundering of footsteps quieted after a few minutes, and only then did Hermione feel it was safe enough to exit the cabin. She avoided the eyes of other students, concentrating on her destination and hoping that she came off as impatient or even snobby; the less interaction, the better. She joined a squad of second and third year Hufflepuffs, trusting that they were less likely to question her identity due to their age and the easygoing nature of their House. She sat in a carriage with two second years, and while the boys had said hello, they were too wrapped up in their Chocolate Frog card collections to pay her much notice.

The carriages took off, wheels and hooves clamoring over the stones which were still wet from an afternoon thunderstorm. Although Hermione had seen thestrals before, and had even ridden them on two separate occasions (the first time blindly at that), she couldn't help but stare at them now, wondering if they were same as the thestrals in her time. They certainly looked the same. One of the boys caught her staring and had a questioning tilt of his head, likely confused on what she was looking at, and she hurriedly stared instead at the approaching castle.

Hogwarts architecture, thankfully, had not changed from the school Hermione was familiar with. It looked exactly the same, right down to the weather vanes, and she could only pray that the inside had the same treatment.

* * *

To her surprise, and immense relief, Professor Dumbledore was waiting in the Entrance Hall. He smiled and greeted the other students, some of whom appeared bemused to find the Headmaster welcoming them back. His eyes twinkled as Hermione approached.

"Ah, Miss Dagworth-Granger, was it?" he asked, smiling politely. "I received your owl and am delighted to welcome you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Not one to believe the impossible could be gained so easily, Hermione merely nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Let us talk privately while the other students get settled and wait for the first years to cross the lake," the headmaster continued, signaling for her to follow.

He led her into a side chamber similar to the one where Professor McGonagall would be prepping the first years soon. However, this room had a large desk with a squishy armchair behind it, and a smaller but comfortable chair in front. Dumbledore gestured to the seat, going behind the desk to sit in the armchair. Hermione sat slowly, her attention drawn to the papers on the desk, one of which was the letter she had penned only hours before.

"So," Dumbledore began, peering at her from behind his half-moon spectacles, "you are Miss Hermione Dagworth-Granger, from the United States of America, New York specifically. Distant relative of Hector Dagworth-Granger. Home-schooled by your father, a wizard, until last year, when he died." The man paused. "I am very sorry for your loss."

He was watching her carefully, but Hermione had come prepared. Thinking of the loss of her own parents, drawing from those first days after she had wiped away their lives, how they had refused her after those memories had returned... "Thank you," she said, voice heavy with emotion. "I miss him terribly."

Dumbledore nodded, glancing back down at her letter. "You said your mother was a Muggle, is that correct? And that after the death of your father, the two of you moved back to Britain, to find and contact any of his relatives?"

"Yes sir," Hermione answered, praying that she could pull this off. She had certainly lied convincingly under worse conditions, thinking back to her torture at Malfor Manor.

"My mother was a Muggle, so she couldn't help me with anything magical, you see. And my father didn't leave behind a will... She hoped to contact his relatives here, if there are any... He didn't reveal much of his family, so all I've got to go on is his name," she explained, trying to sound curious and sad and earnest all at the same time. "So we decided to move back to Britain, only..."

Hermione paused for effect, wondering how it had come to this, to deceiving her dead headmaster about her Muggle parents so she wouldn't be thrown in Azkaban.

"Only you didn't know how tightly the Ministry is monitoring foreign witches and wizards here," Dumbledore finished for her. Hermione held her breath, waiting for him to expand on his conclusions. "You traveled here by plane and established yourselves through Muggle means. You were unaware that the Ministry does not allow in foreign witches or wizards without proper procedures. You would have been safe in the Muggle world. But when your mother started asking questions about the Dagworth-Granger family... and you seemingly appeared out of nowhere..."

"They attacked us," Hermione choked out, thinking back to her time at Malfoy Manor, of how frightened she had been, of the torture she had endured at Bellatrix's hands. Her scar itched. "Accused me of being a Mudblood, of my mother being a thief, and they... they... _they killed her!_ "

Dumbledore studied her, watching as Hermione sniffed and wiped away her tears. He then stood and rifled through the other papers on the desk. "I trust you have some patents with you?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, pulling the parchment from her bag. _This is it,_ she thought. Snape's Order-of-Merlin-worthy document would be put to the test.

The headmaster glanced over it, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"I see Mister Snape is quite adept at magical seals."

Her blood ran cold. Hermione tried to hide any sort of reaction, though she was shaking uncontrollably on the inside. It hadn't even lasted a full minute, Dumbledore had not even cast any revealing spells; he had been able to sense it using his own magical knowledge.

"Forgive me, my dear," he apologized, pulling a sheet of parchment from his pile, "but the Ministry would not be fooled by this display of false identification." He smiled fondly. "No matter how impressive it may be."

Hermione's thoughts were racing. She'd been found out. What could she do? She could try to Imperius Dumbledore? No, that would never work. She couldn't imagine any amount of begging would make a difference. A bargain perhaps? But she had nothing of value...

Dumbledore was no longer smiling. "As much as I disagree with their methods, the Ministry requires that any suspicious persons be reported immediately. Surely if you are who you say you are, they will be able to help you."

No... no, no, no, _no._ She couldn't go to the Ministry! Hermione would _not_ let that happen. There must be a way! She had put too much faith in Dumbledore, thinking of _her_ Dumbledore. And she should have remembered how shrewd and calculating he could truly be, manipulating Harry to find the Horcruxes, how he had ignored his ill sister _for the greater good_ –

His sister. His family. Rita Skeeter's book. Things Harry had heard at Fleur and Bill's wedding.

"Professor, if you please, I'd much prefer _your_ help," she began carefully, controlling the edge in her voice. "If you think about it... you'll find my situation is very similar to your _own_ family."

The headmaster was staring sharply now, and Hermione had never been on the receiving end of Dumbledore's anger, but this was nerve-wracking enough that she hoped to never infuriate the man. She struggled to keep her voice steady. "I'm sure your _mother_ would have extended a helping hand," she said with precision, not exactly threatening the man but it was there, laid out on the table with her fake Patent of Magical Lineage.

She had no tangible proof, of course, that Kendra Dumbledore had been Muggle-born in this time. Hermione only had the words of Harry Potter, a boy who wasn't alive (and never would be), and a copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ , a book which contained dangerous and contraband information, let alone it had not yet been published. Hermione never would have thought she would threaten _Albus Dumbledore_ of all people, not to mention the thought of blackmailing a teacher had her stomach squirming.

"What do you want, Miss _Dagworth-Granger_?" the old man asked pointedly. She didn't know if he had bought her threat, or if he was merely humoring her.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I would like, with your permission, to finish my seventh year of schooling, sir."

The headmaster stared at her for a very long time without responding. Hermione stared back with equal measure, refraining from biting her lip or wringing her hands. She had faced more terrifying things in the last year than a steely Professor Dumbledore. She had lied under worse conditions, and she had saved her arse, and Harry's and Ron's too, on more accounts than she could remember. She was the most brilliant witch of her age, and Hermione would get through this.

If her racing, obnoxiously loud heartbeat didn't give her away first.

At long last, Dumbledore waved a hand over her patent. The names Snape had designed remained the same, but Hermione could feel a different sort of magic coating the parchment, something stronger.

She dared to hope.

"I am lucky enough to own a few potions documents from Hector," explained Dumbledore. "I have transferred his magical identity into your patent and correctly mixed it with your own. As impressive as Mister Snape's magic is, I removed his signature to avoid any complications."

She let out a breath. Her blackmail had worked. Which was oddly curious, Hermione thought, for if Kendra Dumbledore had been a Muggle-born, surely she would have been sent to Azkaban. Then again, she was likely born long before Tom Riddle began ordering the capture of Mudbloods, and perhaps she had even died before it as well. Still, the fact that Dumbledore had taken it as a threat meant that the information was not widely known and likely incriminating, even if the pamphlet did not offer any details on how to treat the offspring of Mudbloods. Likely they were considered thieves themselves.

"This piece of parchment alone cannot protect you," the headmaster spoke suddenly, not looking at Hermione but instead drafting a second letter. "The Ministry oversees the entire Hogwarts roster... they will have to be notified of a new transfer student. They will be suspicious even with the proper paperwork. I hope for your sake," he glanced at her with warning, "that you are prepared."

Swallowing, Hermione nodded gratefully.

He handed her the letter he'd magically drafted. "This is a copy of your Hogwarts acceptance letter. By some chance, it slipped past the Ministry's notice, though they will undoubtedly find a copy once they check their records," he explained wryly, his eyes twinkling. "You should expect an inquiry within the week, and neither I nor _my mother_ will be able to help you then."

She hated that it had come to this, that she had blackmailed Dumbledore. But Hermione was nothing if not resourceful. Staying safe and returning to her own time were the objectives here. If she had to hurt Dumbledore's trust in the process... so be it.

"Well then, Miss Dagworth-Granger, let us not delay the Sorting Ceremony any longer."

Hermione gathered up her documents, placing them inside her bag with care. She knew Dumbledore was eyeing it with interest, but she wasn't going to offer any details. With a tap of his wand, the headmaster vanished the desk and chairs, and he then proceeded to leave the room. Hermione followed closely, scarcely believing her luck.

She would still need to proceed with caution, though. Dumbledore may have allowed her into his school, but blackmailing him had certainly ruined her chances of gaining his trust. He had informed her that the Ministry would be notified, and there was always a chance he could let something slip... Even if Professor Dumbledore kept his suspicions to himself, Hermione was still set for an inquiry later this week. She was not looking forward to that, _dreading_ it actually, as no doubt she would be interrogated by Aurors and possibly even Voldemort himself.

Her stomach lurched uneasily and she tried not to think about the days to come.

Hermione joined the queue of first years that had lined up just outside the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall gave her a hard look but did not comment, though she did have a brief exchange with the headmaster before the doors opened.

For one tiny moment, Hermione could pretend she was home. The Great Hall was as inviting as it had ever been during her first six years at Hogwarts. Candles floated overhead, flickering against the bewitching night sky of the ceiling. Students chatted aimlessly and comfortably, laughing without care. The floor was spotless, the walls straight, tables devoid of any dead bodies–

Hermione focused her attention on the small boy in front of her as she followed the line towards the front of the hall. _One step at a time_.

The chatter had died down quickly, and she could feel hundreds of eyes staring at her, wondering why there was a new, older girl with the first years. She didn't dare glance at the Gryffindor table, where the Marauders were undoubtedly whispering about her. She did look over to where the Slytherins sat, catching sight of Snape with the other seventh year boys. He caught her eye and looked away quickly, though he seemed relieved to find she had made it this far.

Her attention was drawn to the boy sitting to Snape's right. A boy with dark waves and high cheekbones who looked oddly familiar. His eyes were narrowed and brows furrowed, and when he noticed her staring back, he glared with malice. Hermione hurriedly looked elsewhere, but she could still feel his gaze burning into the back of her head.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat for attention. "Now, when I call your name, you will sit here, and I will place the Sorting Hat upon your head." She paused to read the list of names. "Belby, Theresa."

A short girl with blond curls stepped forward nervously, sitting on the three-legged stool and practically wincing when Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat upon her head. It was barely a few seconds before the Hat made a decision.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The little girl sagged in relief as the Hat was removed from her head, scurrying off towards the table on the far right, which had burst into applause.

This Sorting Hat had not sung a song, Hermione noted with interest. She suddenly wondered if it would recognize she did not belong in this time. She knew from having religiously read _Hogwarts, A History_ that the Sorting Hat contained some degree of Legilimency; however, she had also discovered earlier that Legilimency was not a thing here. She hadn't found it in any of the books, nor had Snape recognized the word. So how would the Hat know where to place her?

And what if she did not end up in Gryffindor again? This was a different time, a different place, with a different Hat. She could very well be placed into Ravenclaw, like _her_ Sorting Hat had originally suggested. Or perhaps she would go to Hufflepuff, or Merlin forbid it, Slytherin.

Several students had already been Sorted by the time Hermione pulled herself from her thoughts and paid attention.

"Corner, Derek."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Dagworth-Granger, Hermione."

Whispering broke out as she stepped forward. She heard things like " _I saw her on the train"_ and " _Where did she come from? We never have transfer students"_. She nervously sat on the stool, her legs bunching up. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat over her head, and Hermione sucked in a deep breath.

 _Well, well. You sure are an interesting one,_ came the familiar voice in her head. _Muggle-born you may be, but magic thief you are not._

Hermione paled at the Hat's words, glancing around worriedly. Everyone was still staring, but she imagined there would be more of a reaction if anyone else had heard the declaration. But the Hat was somehow reading her mind! She stored away this contradiction for later thinking.

 _Never fear, I am merely here to Sort you, not judge you. So, where to put you? You have many traits that would suit any House, yes, even Slytherin. You don't think your blackmail of the Headmaster was a cunning way to achieve your end goal?_

 _Please don't put me in Slytherin_ , Hermione begged. There may not be any Muggle-borns for them to scorn here, but she was sure they were still a dreadful lot, recalling the scary boy next to Snape.

 _That may be, but you also have a great sense of loyalty, justice, wisdom. What am I to do with you?_

The Hat was silent for a long, painful minute. Hermione was fully aware of every student's gaze as they peered at her from the tables. She could tell from their faces that the Hat was taking an unusual amount of time to decide with her. She wished she could turn around to see Professor Dumbledore's reaction, but she didn't dare move.

 _You face great danger here, you know. The road you seek is a long and difficult one, with many sacrifices. Knowing this, will you still risk everything?_

 _The road I seek?_ she repeated, confused. _Wait, does this mean there_ is _a way for me to return–_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Reeling from the information the Hat had let slip, Hermione stumbled her way over to the Gryffindor table, with something akin to muscle memory. She blindly sat down at the end of a bench, not paying mind to those around her.

The Hat had said she would face danger and sacrifice. But it had sounded as if there really _was_ a way for her to return home, to her own place and time. And this roused Hermione's spirits more than the clapping of the other Gryffindors ever could.

The Sorting concluded, but Hermione was far too immersed in her thoughts to notice. She jerked back to attention when Headmaster Dumbledore mentioned her name during his Start of Term speech, something he usually only did _after_ the food had been finished. However, here, he was addressing the school with a bit more seriousness than the Dumbledore Hermione had known.

"And we would also like to welcome our first transfer student from America, Miss Hermione Dagworth-Granger!" he had announced, gesturing towards the Gryffindor table. "She will be finishing her last year of school here, so please make her feel at home."

She sank low into her seat as Dumbledore continued and listed off a few reminders before telling the students to tuck in and enjoy their meals. The plates suddenly became full with roast chicken, mashed potatoes, carrots, and various other dishes.

Hermione had managed to help herself to a serving of chicken and potatoes before a group of girls abruptly squeezed their way onto the bench across from her.

"So! New girl!" one of them said, and Hermione noticed she had gorgeous golden locks. "What brings you to Hogwarts so late in the game?"

The girl directly across from Hermione rolled her eyes. "Marlene! Don't be so rude. Sorry about her," the girl said to Hermione, running a hand through her short brown bob, "she forgets her manners."

"Hey!"

"Like that. I'm Alice King," the girl introduced, holding out a hand for Hermione to shake. "The rude one's Marlene McKinnon, and this here," she pointed to the last girl on her left, "is Penny Haywood."

Hermione had never heard of the blonde, pigtailed Penny Haywood, but she recognized the other two. Alice King had short, light brown hair and a round face with kind eyes, very reminiscent of her son Neville Longbottom. She barely resembled the shell of a woman Hermione had seen at St. Mungo's, something that, Hermione realized, would likely never happen to this girl, since the Death Eaters were not a threat. Her eyes slid over to Marlene McKinnon, whose life here would also be drastically different and not cut short by Voldemort. Marlene had the most beautiful golden hair Hermione had ever seen, hair that would surely have made Lavender Brown, who'd spent many an hour perfecting her wavy locks, green with envy. Until Hermione recalled that Lavender was dead and would never have another chance to perfect her brown curls again; she shoved those thoughts away and blinked back the tears. Marlene was pouting at Alice's comment about her being rude, and Hermione rather thought she looked something like a blond Audrey Hepburn, complete with adorable dimples.

"We're in seventh year, too," Alice added, piling her own plate high with food. "I expect your new bed will have already been added to our dorm when we get there."

Marlene was loading her plate, too, but Penny Haywood was looking at Hermione thoughtfully.

"So what brings you to Hogwarts, Hermione?" she asked, flipping one of her braids over a shoulder. "We've never had a transfer student that I can recall, and the Ministry is pretty strict about letting in foreigners–"

"Whoa, Penny, let the girl breathe," Marlene interrupted with a wave of her fork, a piece of chicken flinging from the end and landing three plates down. She sent a flirty, albeit apologetic, wink to the boy, who had turned in their direction with annoyance.

Hermione's cheeks pinked in embarrassment and nervousness. She had never been very good at talking to girls outside of Ginny. Girls like Lavender and Parvati had found her weird and unpleasant. She also hadn't expected Detective Penny, but she supposed she would have to explain her sob story at some point. She rubbed her arm reflexively where her scar was hidden beneath glamours and school robes.

"Ah well, I lived in America until recently, when... my father passed away," she muttered, glad to see the other three looking sad and sympathetic. "My mum's a Muggle and doesn't know much about magic, so we decided to come back to Britain and see if we could locate any of Dad's relatives here. We weren't aware of all of the rules..."

"That's right, America has open borders and all that, don't they?" Marlene said with understanding.

Penny still seemed suspicious. "Why didn't you just finish your schooling in America? Seems a hassle to relocate and leave your school and friends behind, when you could have just waited another year to seek out these relatives."

Alice frowned at Penny's forwardness, but Hermione didn't mind. Better to explain now and dissuade any conclusions they might draw on their own.

"Well, I was home-schooled by my dad. My mum really wanted to find other wizard relatives rather than trying to send me off to school by herself. Dad was British so she figured his family might be here somewhere."

"Hmm, I don't know of any Dagworth-Grangers who are still alive," Alice commented sadly. "Though really, only Hector Dagworth-Granger is famous, so I suppose there might be a few relatives somewhere. Are you going to help your mum look? I imagine it would be hard on her own, being a Muggle."

Hermione looked down at her half-eaten plate with sorrow. "Mum... She died only last month."

The three girls were shocked, Marlene even letting out a squeak that drew the attention of anyone around them. "Sorry," she whispered, "but I just can't believe...! Oh you poor thing..."

"Was she ill?" Penny asked, no longer sounding suspicious, but obviously still curious.

Hermione took a deep breath. "She was murdered. By wizards who thought I was a Mudblood. I... I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." She let the tears fill her eyes as she longed for her real parents. She hadn't been able to reconnect with them before she had arrived here, in this backwards 1977, and now she might never see them again. She wondered if they were even married in this timeline, and the possibility of them not ending up together made her heart ache.

"I'm sorry," Penny offered quietly, patting Hermione's hand.

The other two nodded, and after a moment's pause, Marlene changed the subject to discuss her summer outings, which, from the sound of it, involved a lot of sand and a lot of boys. Hermione tried to pay attention, but she only ended up pushing the remaining food around her plate before it disappeared entirely.

Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat at the high table and lifted a hand, effectively silencing the Great Hall.

"Again, welcome back. Tomorrow is a new day, but for now, let us retire and rest up!"

The girls gathered Hermione and followed the other Gryffindors out to the Grand Staircase. Penny left to join the other Prefects in herding the first years, so Hermione was led along by Alice and Marlene. She found both girls to be rather kind and very friendly. Alice gave her a tour of everything they passed, explaining what rooms were located on which floors, while Marlene contributed with gossip rather than facts.

"Third floor's mostly library, though the Charms classroom is located here too," Alice explained, grinning as Hermione's face lit up. "Ah, so you like the library, eh?"

She blushed. "I love reading," Hermione admitted.

"I like the library, too," Marlene chimed in, smiling mischievously. "Great for snogging."

Alice slapped her friend's arm. Hermione looked appalled. Marlene merely giggled.

Hermione let the other two girls prattle on, pointing out various halls and classrooms. She knew it all already, of course, but they couldn't know that. She was so happy to find that the castle seemed exactly the same as the one she had attended for six years. Ten minutes later, they reached the seventh floor corridor and stood in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. Hermione did a double-take; the Fat Lady was actually rather thin!

"You just have to give the password," said Alice, nodding at the portrait.

Hermione frowned. "Err... do either of you know it?" She couldn't recall anyone informing them.

"Damn, you're right," Alice swore, covering her mouth sheepishly at the curse word. "Marlene?"

The golden girl was inspecting her nails. She looked up, confused. "Sorry, what's all the fuss about?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "I swear, if your head wasn't attached to your shoulders, it would float away with all that empty space."

"Oh, do stop arguing," a fourth voice cut in, and Hermione turned to find Penny and about five first years behind her. "The password is 'Pumpernickel.'"

"Thank goodness for that," the Thin Lady groaned, her frame swinging open to reveal the entrance.

The three girls in front climbed through, followed by Penny and the first years.

Hermione's eyes swept around the common room fondly. Everything appeared just as she would have expected from her own Gryffindor Tower. She took comfort in the familiar armchairs and roaring fireplace; she was trapped in a past with strangers and surrounded by lies, and the warm room gave her some peace. With everything else being different, she was glad Hogwarts was practically the same.

Just as Alice had predicted, a bed had been added to the seventh year girls' dormitory. Hermione's space was next to Marlene's, which was decorated with an assortment of floral wallpaper, paintings, and a few photographs of her large family. Alice's desk was adorned with plants and photos of a man Hermione recognized immediately as Frank Longbottom ("He graduated last year but we're still going strong," she said happily). Penny's area, closest to the door, was crowded with _Witch Weekly_ magazines and a single photo of her parents.

Hermione's trunk had been placed at the foot of her bed, likely by house elves. As much as she hated slave labor, she was going to let it be; she had more pressing matters to worry about at the moment. After changing into her pajamas, Hermione crawled into bed, staving off the other girls' idle chatter and telling them she was rather tired. It wasn't a complete lie; her day had been rather draining.

She still had so much to do. So many thoughts to organize; Hermione needed to make a few lists, things to do, things to research, things _not to accidentally say about the future_ , things _that didn't exist here so don't mention those either_. She would have to do this very soon, but not tonight. Tonight, she was exhausted. She drew her curtains and cast a Silencing Charm around them, not only to block out the other girls' voices, but also to prevent them from hearing any nightmares she may have. They weren't nearly as bad anymore, but she didn't have the beds of Harry or Ron to run to if they took a turn for the worse.

With the silence looming over her, Hermione found she could not sleep. Instead, she was plagued with worries. What was happening back in her time? Had anyone realized she was missing? Surely Harry and Ron would have noticed. Was everyone okay? Had anyone else walked through the barrier and ended up where she was? Or in a different, separate time and place? Perhaps Ron had run after her and ended up even further back in time with a benevolent Tom Riddle. Merlin, she hoped not; Ron would hex Riddle's face off before anything could be established. She snorted at that.

Dumbledore's warning played in her mind. The Ministry would be coming, and soon. She had to be ready for whatever they tried to throw at her. Hermione didn't know how much sway Dumbledore's words would have, if any. She felt reassured in her patent, strengthened by the headmaster himself. However, if Voldemort came to investigate personally... Hermione wasn't sure how well she could keep her composure.

She chided herself for dwelling on dark thoughts. _I need to sleep, or I won't have the strength to take on the Aurors_ , she told herself. _Don't fret, one step at a time, remember? One step... at at time..._

Hermione drifted off to sleep, her dreams devoid of Bellatrix and Malfoy Manor, but instead haunted by visions of Azkaban and a terrified pair of green eyes.

* * *

.

* * *

 _._

 _I want to thank my two reviewers and those of you who followed! I hope you are enjoying this._

 _I'm pulling information on America from the Fantastic Beats series as well as other places, but it may not match up exactly. Penny Haywood is borrowed from the game Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery, although her birth date and other such things have been altered to fit my story; I've never played the game, so her personality may not match exactly either. Whenever I get a better phone, however, I really want to download it!_

 _Chapter 3 is almost done, but it needs some reworking. Hopefully I can get it up by next week, but as Thanksgiving is Thursday, it might not be until after that. Several familiar faces will make an appearance!_


	3. The Lies of Hermione Dagworth-Granger

**If It Had Happened Otherwise**

* * *

.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

 _"Even when I wake, I cannot tell what is real, and what I am dreaming as I move and speak and eat my dinner. I remember what cannot have happened, and forget something that is happening to me now. People look at me as though I should know them, and I do know them in the dream, and always the fire draws me nearer, though I am awake—"  
_ -Peter S. Beagle

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

The dorm belonging to the seventh year Gryffindor girls was quiet on the morning of September 2, 1977. Three of the four occupants were fast asleep in their beds, as it was still early, before five o'clock. The fourth and newest addition to the room, however, was wide awake.

Hermione Granger, _Dagworth-Granger_ , had woken from a restless sleep. She had pushed most of last night's dreams into the recesses of her mind, but she couldn't seem to block the green eyes which stared back every time she closed her own. Sometimes they belonged to Lily, but other times they belonged to Harry. Much of her nightmare had revolved around Lily Evans being captured and taken to Azkaban, but Hermione could recall Harry's presence too, at one point or another. He had been desperate, that much she could remember, and not much else.

How she desperately wished to be back home, in her own time. She should have been waking up in the proper Gryffindor dormitories, her bed likely next to Ginny's. They would have gone to breakfast together, taken classes together, spent their weekends in Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron visiting. Certainly it would have been arduous to return to the school where so many people died, where many of her friends gave their lives fighting Voldemort and his supporters. But it was still her Hogwarts, and the returning students and teachers would have banded together and mourned together and healed together. It would not have been easy, but it would have been home.

Instead, her bed was next to Marlene McKinnon's, in the wrong dormitory of a different Gryffindor Tower located in the wrong Hogwarts, belonging to a parallel world set in a divergent timeline.

Hermione scolded herself for wallowing in bed when she had plenty of things she needed to get done. There were books that needed reading, libraries that needed exploring, history that needed researching... A story that needed detailing, and by that, she meant her _own_ story, the fake one Dumbledore had managed to deduce. She needed to have her backstory sorted out before the Ministry arrived, no doubt they would question her on it ruthlessly. Such a thing might require further knowledge on the magical world of the United States of America, however.

Hermione canceled the silencing charms and pulled back her curtains, pleased to see that none of her roommates were awake yet. She got up and stretched, before stepping lightly over to her trunk. After removing the necessary robes, Hermione collected her beaded bag, which she had slept with under her pillow, and carefully folded away all of the Gryffindor uniforms she had previously hidden. She also removed her school bag and the required textbooks, putting them on the empty desk she assumed was hers. Underneath the uniforms in her trunk lay more books, ones she didn't feel the need to hide in her bag, but ones that she had charmed anyway to look boring to anyone else; these included old Hogwarts texts, Muggle novels, and others. While she doubted any of her roommates would go snooping (even if Penny had been suspicious last night, she had respected Hermione's privacy), she wasn't taking any chances, and so she placed a locking spell upon her trunk that could only be opened by her magical signature.

Such a spell had already been placed on the beaded bag, along with many other charms, so that it could be fastened to her hip or tucked inside a pocket without notice. There were many things still inside that she would have preferred to remove and store in her trunk, but Hermione felt that it wouldn't be a smart idea to do that now. Such things were safest on her person at all times.

Unfortunately, her Prefect's Badge also had to remain hidden, as that title belonged to Penny Haywood here. She frowned at the little empty spot on her robes where the emblem would have been pinned. A voice inside her head was laughing, _how pathetic are you to be trapped in a place where the Ministry would kill you and yet you're upset because you aren't a Prefect_ it mocked, rather sounding like Ron Weasley.

Of course she knew it was silly, but Hermione could not help feel miffed.

Reassured that no one could find anything of offense on her bed or trunk, she turned to her desk. Although several of her original seventh year books had been similar to Severus Snape's, Hermione had duplicated all of his to eliminate any disparities. She examined the new covers with interest. _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7. Quintessence: A Further Study. Confronting Dark Magique. A Continued Guide to Magical Herbs and Fungi._ _Transfiguration: The Next Step. Advanced Potion Making_ , a book she wondered if Snape had scrawled notes into this time; he was unfamiliar with his own _Muffliato_ , so Hermione supposed his other inventions might not exist either.

While Snape did have textbooks for Arithmancy, Hermione had not duplicated those. She figured as a new, home-schooled student, she would not be qualified to enroll in NEWT level electives. This saddened her, as Arithmancy had been her favorite subject. For the same reason, she would be unable to take Ancient Runes as well, though Snape had no books concerning runes, nor had she asked.

To her interest, _The Secrets of Alchemy_ had also been among Snape's schoolbooks, and he had informed her that it was an elective starting from third year. She had duplicated it anyway, knowing she could not pursue the subject even if she wished it, as no such thing had been available at her Hogwarts. Even if she couldn't attend the class, the book was bound to be a good read.

She crammed all of these texts into her school bag, charming it to weigh next to nothing like her beaded purse. Hermione then grabbed her clothes and went into the adjoining bathroom to freshen up and change.

Her school robes offered a sense of familiarity and comfort, and the girl staring back at her from the mirror looked as if she could waltz off to the Great Hall with Ginny Weasley at any moment. But Hermione couldn't fool herself into thinking everything would be all right, as much as she wished. _Stop wishing things were different, because they're not,_ she told herself. _Nothing will change unless you go out there and find a way home, something you won't be able to do if you don't keep a straight head on your shoulders!_

Nodding at her resolve, Hermione ran a hand through her brushed curls, sighing when they refused to be anything but bushy. She triple-checked that her scar was still glamoured, then she turned from the mirror and stalked back into her dorm. She grabbed her bookbag and headed for the stairs, thankful again that the other girls were still sleeping. Hermione paused at the door, next to Penny's desk. The calendar that hung above a magazine collection had caught her eye.

Today was September 2nd, 1977... a Friday. In 1998, it would have been Wednesday. At least she had gotten that detail sorted before she'd made a mistake in front of someone.

She had spent an hour tidying up her trunk, and it was almost six now. The common room was empty, with students either still asleep or perhaps down at breakfast, though if these Gryffindors were anything like her own, this was unlikely. Hermione did not linger either, making her way to the portrait hole rather quickly.

Only a handful of students were already in the Great Hall, most of them Ravenclaws. There were a few Slytherins as well, but Hermione did not see Severus Snape among them. The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables were practically empty; she supposed even in a different universe some things could never change.

Scanning the breakfast table, Hermione chose her food carefully. She did not know who here was aware of American eating habits, but she was not taking any risks. Miraculously, Hermione actually _had_ been to America, specifically New York and Massachusetts, for a family vacation years ago. The Grangers had spent two weeks there during the summer before Hermione turned eight, and while she had just been a child, she'd always had a good memory.

She passed over the plates of kippers and beans, things she definitely did not recall being served at the American hotels. She did however load her plate with sausages, eggs, toast, and hashbrowns. It wouldn't do to face the day on an empty stomach.

"You really should try the baked beans."

Hermione almost dropped her fork in shock. She hadn't realized someone had sat down across from her. She glanced up, only to properly drop her fork this time; it clanged against the floor and disappeared, only to be replaced by a clean one next to her plate.

Peter Pettigrew was watching her with interest from across the table.

There were so many thoughts racing through her brain upon recognizing him, though he wasn't nearly as ugly as the balding man from the Shrieking Shack; he was small, with wide eyes and a hint of remaining baby fat in his cheeks. Hermione wanted to hex him. She wanted to scream, she wanted to run, she wanted to cry. Yet she couldn't do any of this because the teenager sitting before her had yet to commit the heinous crimes of the future, her past... and Hermione knew perfectly well that Lily was dead and would never marry James, and Voldemort would never try to kill Harry Potter who didn't exist, and Peter Pettigrew would never be involved in any of that.

The entire situation was becoming a headache.

"The beans," Peter indicated, nodding at the plate he had seen her bypass. He had taken her silent turmoil for confusion.

Her mouth opened and closed several times before Hermione was able to wrestle control of her emotions. "Oh, erm, right."

The boy grinned. "I prefer mine on toast."

And so did Hermione, and it disgusted her to know she and Peter _Pettigrew_ shared their liking of beans on toast. She swallowed the bile and clenched her teeth, forcing the tiniest smile she could manage, and then Hermione scooped some beans onto her toast because she couldn't think of a reason not to, at least not one she could offer up vocally.

It tasted terribly delicious.

"Good, right?" Peter asked, sensing her enjoyment. "You're the new girl, right? Just transferred from America or something?"

She choked and coughed. "People know about that!?"

He shrugged. "News travels fast here. Hogwarts isn't a huge school, and we've never had a transfer student, so everyone's eager to get answers."

"But how do you know I'm from America?" She had only told her roommates just last night.

Peter began nibbling on his own beanned toast. "Heard it from Remus who heard it from Jill who heard it from Penny. They may be Prefects but they are probably the worst gossips, the girls I mean. Plus Dumbledore mentioned it at the feast, remember? Though Penny had a lot more to share than he did."

Hermione gaped at him. Of course it would be Penny's fault, though she couldn't exactly blame the girl... yet. Others were likely hounding the blonde for details during the Prefect patrols, and people had likely seen Hermione and Penny together at dinner. Not to mention Hermione had completely forgotten that the headmaster had outed her before the feast last night.

"Oh right, you probably don't know any of those people," Peter apologized, again mistaking her long silence. "Well, I guess you'd know Penny, your roommate. Jill Jorkins is the sixth year Prefect, and Remus Lupin is Headboy."

 _Remus_ was Headboy!? Remus Lupin? Not James Potter? Then again, without his love for Lily to curb his mischievous behavior, James would have no reason to get his act together. She kept forgetting that she hadn't been merely tossed back in time, Hermione had been thrown back twenty one years into a different, yet strangely parallel, dimension.

She had been quiet again for a long while, and she cast about for something to say. "What's a Prefect?" she blurted. At Peter's incredulous look, she added, "I was home-schooled."

More students were trickling into the Hall, but Hermione tried not to pay attention, though she felt the weight of several stares on her occasionally. She focused her attention on Peter and his rather lengthy explanation of Prefects. She didn't bother correcting him when he said Prefects were older, model witches and wizards, like it were something special to the wizarding world, as she didn't want to bring her Muggle background into play, besides which she was supposed to have been home-schooled and would know absolutely nothing about such things.

"Chatting up the new bird already, Pete? Didn't think you had it in ya," came a new, familiar, and unwanted voice.

Remus Lupin sat down on Peter's left and flashed a dazzling smile in Hermione's direction, the Headboy badge pinned to his robes shining proudly. He was strikingly handsome, much more so than the Professor Lupin she had known. His face was lively, eyebrows arched in a playful manner, his green eyes sparkling. His sandy blond hair fell across his face gently, a face Hermione noticed bore no scars. She choked back a sob. _No scars_. He wasn't a werewolf. Lycanthropy didn't exist here. Lupin wasn't a werewolf! Hermione wanted to cry; she wanted to cry with joy for this man who would never know such horrors. She wanted to cry with sorrow for _her_ Lupin, the dead man who had endured said horrors before his murder. It was only a few months ago she had seen his older body, lifeless on a table in the Great Hall. And now here she was, in the Great Hall again, sitting across from a teenager who would never know how blessed he was, how much worse his life could have been, what he could have suffered had he been born in her world.

She was barely aware that Peter was stumbling to explain he hadn't, in fact, been hitting on the new student. Remus was not buying it; he was smirking and saying things to make his friend blush. This Remus seemed much more confident than hers, even more so than what she had heard from Harry of her Lupin during his own youth. But being a werewolf was a heavy burden, one likely to have turned Lupin into an overly cautious and self-deprecating person. This Remus carried no such baggage.

"Already started the interrogations, have we boys?"

Another wave of nausea hit her when James Potter joined the table, sitting _directly next to_ Hermione. He peered at her. "Hermininy Dogworth-something, wasn't it?" he asked, uncouthly shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth.

James Potter looked so similar to his son. They had the same messy hair, same ears, same cheekbones. However, there were noticeable differences. His eyes, of course, were not green, but hazel; that alone seemed to make a world of difference up close. James had a stronger jawline and a more pointed nose. His hair was indeed messy, but in a purposeful sort of way. He looked more muscular and better built than Harry had been, having not spent most of his childhood in a cupboard under the stairs. All of which Hermione decided was _not_ attractive, no matter how much a tiny voice said otherwise. It was bizarre enough looking at Not-Harry-Potter without finding him handsome, too.

Hermione didn't even bother to correct his horribly butchered pronunciation of her name. It was all she could do to stare openly at his features which reminded her painfully of his son-from-a-different-future. Remus and James joked a bit more at Peter's expense, until the bespectacled man caught her unwavering gaze.

"Would you like me to take a picture?" he teased good-naturedly, laying an elbow on the table and propping his head in his hand with a practiced, flirtatious ease. "I expect it will last longer."

She blushed and turned away from his smirk, her thoughts still in a knot, words seemingly unmanageable. She looked away towards the Hall entrance. She sobered up upon seeing Alice, Marlene, and Penny walk through the doors, waving and heading straight for her. Marlene noticed the boys and giggled, highly amused by something.

Merlin help her once the three girls joined them. Whatever happened, it wouldn't bode well for Hermione, that much she was sure. She noted Sirius's absence from the group again, though she supposed he was sleeping in, it suited his personality. She was grateful for it, as it would have been even worse in his presence, since he was the rowdiest of the Marauders.

Thankfully, Hermione was spared further teasing from the boys and the gossip of the girls with the arrival of Professor McGonagall. She had a stack of papers in her hands, ready to pass out the timetables and class assignments.

"Miss Dagworth-Granger," she addressed, startling Hermione. "You are to report to the Headmaster at once." Her lips formed a thin line. "He and several... Ministry personnel await your arrival."

Propelled by her eagerness to escape the other teenagers, as well as the adrenaline caused by the professor's mention of the Ministry, Hermione launched herself away from the bench at once, snatching up her bookbag and making a hasty retreat, not bothering to look back at their reactions.

This was happening incredibly fast; Professor Dumbledore had said they would come to call sometime within the week! This was not good, not good at all. They had to be extremely suspicious of her; they wanted to capture this Mudblood as soon as possible it seemed. Dumbledore had probably owled them last night about her arrival, not to mention there were students who would have written home about the odd transfer from America. All of this must have made its way back to the Ministry, who wanted to nip such a problem in the bud. Couldn't they at least have waited until tomorrow?

Bloody hell, she hadn't even read up on North America yet! So much for a well-crafted fake background.

Hermione dashed up the Grand Staircase, not stopping to apologize when she barreled into someone, a Gryffindor she realized from the uniform. She only swore and then was back on her feet, running up the stairs again.

* * *

Arriving at the foot of Professor's Dumbledore's office several minutes later, Hermione stopped to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. She had a family story half-formed already, though she was not sure the Ministry would buy it. A large part of her was upset at missing her first class of the new year, but she reminded herself that this wasn't really her school and she shouldn't waste energy worrying over classes she didn't really attend.

One step at a time. Deep breaths.

Staring up at the gargoyle statue, Hermione realized she did not know the password. "Erm... sherbert lemon?" she guessed. When nothing happened, she began firing off a list of sweets. "Cockroach clusters? Fizzing Whizzbees? Pepper Imps? Ice Mice?"

The gargoyle spoke suddenly, and Hermione jumped almost a foot into the air. "State your name and purpose," it declared in a gravelly tone.

Blinking at the unexpected demand, Hermione figured this must be yet another variation from her own time. "Hermione Dagworth-Granger," she announced, "here to see Albus Dumbledore, as instructed by Professor McGonagall."

The gargoyle hopped aside, revealing a circular stairwell. "Please proceed."

Hermione breathed in deeply before ascending the staircase. Each step was measured, her hands grabbing fistfuls of her robes before letting go, repeating this every so often. Her fake background played out in her mind over and over, as if she were trying to drill it into reality. She _needed_ it to feel real, needed the information to fall from her mouth easily. They might not have Veritaserum, but Aurors were sharp and clever; they had other ways of detecting lies. And in this world, they could have any variety of unknown tricks up their sleeves. She drew out her magical patent and placed it within her school bag, knowing they would ask to see it, and then she took care to make sure her beaded bag was hidden and secure beneath her robes and skirt. She had to protect it at all costs.

Steeling herself for the worst, she gripped her school bag tightly in one hand, and then grasped the headmaster's doorknob with the other. One last deep breath, then she opened the door and stepped inside.

Professor Dumbledore's office looked much the same as it had before, though a few portraits were noticeably, and rightly, absent. He stood near his claw-footed desk as if there was no other place he'd rather be, chatting politely with a Ministry wizard who clearly didn't share his pleasant mood. Hermione restrained her gasp of surprise just in time for it to remain internal; Dumbledore was talking with none other than Rufus Scrimgeour. She did not have fond memories of the man from her time, though she did respect Scrimgeour for defying Voldemort, ultimately killed for protecting Harry Potter. This man before her, however, she had no reason to trust at all.

Three other people from the Ministry were present, two other wizards and a witch. Hermione did not recognize the larger man, though there was something about him she wanted to remember, she just couldn't discern _what_. He was the oldest of the Ministry wizards, and thus Hermione deduced he was likely in charge of this little interrogation, though she could not guess his exact title. He had receding blond hair that had mostly gone grey, and while his Ministry robes were faded, his black shoes were freshly polished.

The shorter, thin wizard at his side was completely unfamiliar to Hermione. He glanced around the headmaster's office frequently, giving away his anxiety and unease, suggesting perhaps he was not used to such outings. His reddish brown hair was quite stringy; he ran a hand through it several times before pushing his thick black glasses up his nose with a sniff.

The final Ministry member and only witch of the group stood closest to Hermione, examining the objects on one of Dumbledore's many end tables. She wore elegant Ministry robes of deep pink, black tights, and tall black heels. Her black hair was pulled back into an immaculate French twist. Even from the side, Hermione could see that she was extremely beautiful. Rufus Scrimgeour must have agreed, as his eyes kept straying to her while Dumbledore rambled on. Upon the teenager's entrance, the adults dropped their current actions and all turned to stare at her. But Hermione's eyes were drawn to the witch, whose professional makeup could not hide her high cheekbones and sharp jaw, nor the haughty look that all members of the Black family seemed to possess.

Bellatrix Lestrange could be no older than thirty, perhaps even closer to her mid-twenties. She lacked the haggard appearance of her Azkaban-sentenced counterpart, but Hermione would recognize that face anywhere, in any time. The _Mudblood_ cuts etched into her left arm stung, though she resisted rubbing at them. She only had eyes for Bellatrix, even though she was aware the other wizards had stepped forward. The woman who had tortured her looked back with curiosity, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the child before her.

"Are you going to answer the question or stare at me all day?" Bellatrix announced, finally breaking Hermione's trance.

 _This is not the same witch who tortured you. She didn't make Neville's parents suffer or murder Tonks. She didn't kill Sirius Black. Focus, Hermione, focus!_

She decided to play dumb, lowering her eyes to the floor with a blush. "I'm sorry... you're just so..."

The woman raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Yes?" she demanded, sounding as if she had already judged the girl and found her to be the dirt beneath her heels.

"Pretty," responded Hermione meekly. And it was true; she never would have guessed the deranged witch could look so lovely.

The small nervous wizard snorted, then seemed to take it back when Bellatrix turned her intimidating gaze on him. "Perhaps if the government wasn't filled with such chauvinistic pigs, more witches would fill the Auror ranks, and this girl wouldn't be surprised at such a pretty face." Her arms were crossed, manicured nails tapping on her sleeves.

"Perhaps a few introductions are in order?" Professor Dumbledore suggested, rescuing Hermione from further awkwardness. "This is Davin Avery," he started, gesturing to the large, blond wizard. "He's head of the Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Avery, as in Voldemort's _Death Eater Avery_!? Surely not the one she had fought against in the Department of Mysteries; Hermione was positive that man had been younger. Though there was a resemblance... perhaps this was his father? Also a probable Death Eater from her own time, though perhaps he had died before the Second Wizarding War.

Dumbledore nodded to the other wizards in turn. "Rufus Scrimgeour, notable Auror, and Nathaniel Snyde, from Hogwarts Enrollment within the Department of Administrative Records." Snyde gave a hesitant wave, but Scrimgeour regarded Hermione, who was still eyeing Bellatrix, with cold indifference. Not that she cared what Scrimgeour thought of her, as she hadn't liked the man she had known before. Respected yes, liked no. Hermione was unfamiliar with the name Nathaniel Snyde, but judging from this lot, there was a good chance he had been a Voldemort supporter as well. Here, he appeared to be around thirty, similar in age to Bellatrix. He had a young, unblemished face though, as if he hadn't left the office much. Dumbledore had said he worked for the Department of Administrative Records; so not an Auror then. He had probably never left the office... period.

Dumbledore's gaze lingered on the witch, and he gave a little bow. "And last but never least, the enchanting Auror Bellatrix Black."

The woman's lips curled. "You honor me."

Black, Bellatrix Black. Not yet married to Rodolphus Lestrange. She looked beautiful and youthful and as dangerous and deadly as ever. Hermione wouldn't have underestimated the witch for one minute, even if she hadn't before been on the receiving end of her destructive wand. This calm and collected Bellatrix was almost more frightening than the deranged one. Crazy, mad people lost their tempers and made mistakes. Bellatrix Black seemed unlikely to do either of those. She was more formidable than the other three wizards combined.

The large man, Avery, cleared his throat. "Well let's not waste any more time. Miss, er, Dagworth-Granger, was it?" He sounded irritated and impatient. "Please take a seat," he motioned to the stiff chair in front of the headmaster's desk. "We have some questions for you."

Without asking, Avery sat in Professor Dumbledore's large chair behind the desk. Three other chairs had been conjured for Snyde, Scrimgeour, and Bellatrix respectfully: a plain wooden one with a small cushion, a dark seat with a high back, and a fancy stool Hermione rather thought belonged in Madam Puddifoot's. Snyde sat uncomfortably, rearranging himself every so often, perhaps because his chair was hard, or, more probable, because he simply could not sit still. Scrimgeour sat ramrod-straight, his hands gripping both armrests. Bellatrix was poised on her chair so perfectly that one would think she was attending a formal soiree; she had even procured a cream-colored teacup to sip from.

With a final flick of his wand, Dumbledore had his own squishy armchair, set to the left the Aurors, and, if Hermione was hopeful, slightly closer to her side of the desk than theirs.

Avery held up a long scroll and began reading from it. "We are to understand that you are Hermione Dagworth-Granger, daughter of Patrick Dagworth-Granger of Britain, last of the direct male line of Hector Dagworth-Granger. Born September 19, 1959, seventeen years of age. Home-schooled in the New York City, New York, in the United States of America until last year when your father died."

He paused and gave Hermione a critical look. She nodded, keeping her hands folded in her lap and her feet pressed together on the floor. Her bag rested against the chair on the left, closest to Dumbledore. She kept Bellatrix in her peripheral vision at all times.

"Do you have your patent?" Avery questioned. She nodded, hurriedly removing it from her bookbag and handing it over to the man, who spread it across the desk and began to examine it.

"Tell me, Miss Dagworth-Granger," Rufus Scrimgeour inserted with a sneer, "if your father married a Muggle woman, why would he leave Britain and return with her to America... when Rappaport's Law clearly banned any wizard-Muggle–" He must have recalled her American upbringing, for he cleared his throat, "Excuse me, I believe they call them _No-Majs_ there," he spat the word as if it were barbaric. "Why would your parents return to a country which forbids them to have contact with each other?"

She thanked Merlin for Severus Snape's textbook collection and her time spent reading them on the train. _Magic in North America_ had an entire chapter devoted to Rappaport's Law. After a witch had breached the Statute of Secrecy, Emily Rappaport, the then President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America (or MACUSA as they were better known), had passed a strong law in 1790 with the intent to protect the wizarding community. Rappaport's Law segregated wizards and No-Majs _completely_ , banning everyday wizards from all contact with their non-magical neighbors, including friendships and marriages. It went so far as to restrict underage wizards and witches to leaving their wands at school over the holidays. The strict rules were only dissolved in 1965, which was a little over twelve years before this time. Rappaport's Law had been a tough obstacle in Hermione's fake backstory, but she had eventually devised a way around it.

She bit her lip in concentration, hoping to appear thoughtful. Hermione knew the story of how her real parents had met of course, but she would have needed a moment to remember it all. And besides which, Hermione _Dagworth_ -Granger didn't know her entire family history and would have needed a _handful_ of moments to recall what she _did_ know.

"Well, sir," she began in a polite voice, mostly strong with just a hint of expected timidness in the face of authority, "my father didn't tell me much about the family history–"

Scrimgeour scowled, interrupting her. "I believe I asked about your parents, not about the history of the Dagworth-Granger–"

It was Bellatrix Black who held a hand up, silencing the older man. She did not offer words of apology or appear sympathetic but nodded for the girl to continue her story.

"He talked a bit about my great-great grandfather Hector's work in potions," Hermione said, after collecting her breath. Everything she did was measured, every breath, every glance, every word. She only hoped she could pull it all off. "Dad always hoped I'd be brilliant at them, though I am not sure it still runs in the family. I'm decent enough, but Dad was even worse than I am." She smiled, recalling when her own father had tried to deep-fry a turkey and had almost set the house on fire. "He didn't talk about his family much though; I have no idea what sort of people my grandparents were, or if he had any siblings. He was always very quiet about it... I asked a few times, but he always managed to divert the topic to something else."

Scrimgeour was livid at Hermione's long explanation, but the others were listening patiently. Well, Snyde looked bored, still twitching in his seat, but Bellatrix was drinking in every word Hermione said, sipping her tea with a dainty finger in the air.

"Although Dad didn't go into many details, I do know a little of how he and Mum met," Hermione explained, staring mostly at Scrimgeour who had inquired, but occasionally glancing at the others. "She worked as a nurse during the Muggle war, and she was part of a group of volunteers who came to Bristol after the raids, to help the overcrowded hospitals. After the war ended, Mum decided to stay here a bit longer since they still needed help. She and her coworkers went out for a drink one night, and she met Dad at a pub."

That part was true, at least, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had met at the Rose and Crown Pub in 1978, just a few months from now, actually, as Hermione recalled it. On New Year's Eve. But she would think on that later.

"They were married in 1956 in a small ceremony in a friend's backyard, I think. I'm not sure where, likely in Bristol somewhere. Dad was incredibly happy, but Mum missed her family in New York. I know they visited her parents a few times." Hermione cleared her throat before continuing. "She really missed New York, but..."

"They couldn't move to America because of Rappaport's Law," Avery concluded, nodding sagely. "Your father would have likely been thrown in prison and your mother's memories modified."

Scrimgeour was bristling with fury at the lengthy conversation that had yet to directly answer his question. "Exactly my point," he seethed victoriously, finding a flaw in Hermione's story. "So, pray tell, why did they return to America?"

"Nana, my Muggle grandmother, was ill," Hermione answered, trying not to be annoyed with the man, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. "Mum's parents were quite old, and her mother in particular grew very sick. So they went back to America, in 1958 I think."

Scrimgeour sneered. "Surely the Congress would have records of this, of a British wizard entering the country, even if he hadn't been married to a _No-Maj_." He glared at Hermione. "That's what they're called in America, as you very well should know, having supposedly been raised there!"

Hermione raised a dubious brow. "My father was British... so I was raised to call them Muggles. We may have lived overseas but my father kept his thick accent and fondness for chips, something my mother called 'French fries' although I have no idea why." Albus Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and she smiled in response. "But back to your question," she addressed Rufus Scrimgeour, before he could interrupt again. "My father knew of the deep segregation in America, and of what would happen should the MACUSA discover that he had married my Mum. So they simply went to America by Muggle means. They took a plane and moved in with my grandparents."

Avery appeared doubtful. "And they lived there undetected all those years?"

Shaking her head, Hermione glanced at Bellatrix again. The woman had finished her tea and had taken to jotting down notes in a purple book with a long, fluffy quill. She was still listening with undivided attention.

"They only stayed there for a year," she replied grimly, "until 1959. Until Mum became pregnant." Avery nodded in understanding, but Scrimgeour remained suspicious. "She didn't want to leave her parents, but Dad convinced her they had to leave the country or risk being exposed. He didn't want to chance my birth being detected by the MACUSA. So they returned to Bristol, where I was born."

She swallowed. "To be honest, I don't remember much of my time here. I think we lived in a flat, but I couldn't tell you where. Mum was paranoid of anyone magical at that point, having been instilled with fear in America. And Dad was perfectly fine not venturing too far into the wizarding community. I don't remember ever having people over; I think they just wanted to continue hiding. I _do_ remember Mum getting hysterical sometimes. She'd yell at me for looking out the window, or for crying loudly." Hermione dwelled on memories of her own mother scolding her, for being too swotty or too loud, or those few bouts of accidental magic that her parents hadn't understood at the time, instead believing their daughter to be causing a fuss.

"She was always yelling at Dad about things, especially about her parents. She wanted to move back so badly, and letters from my grandfather weren't coming as often. Mum was desperately worried about Nana. They talked about separating a few times... and I'd hide in the closet of my room because I didn't want to hear them screaming at each other..."

"And then Rappaport's Law was lifted," Dumbledore supplied, speaking for the first time since Hermione had begun her story.

She nodded, noticing that Avery and Snyde seemed more relaxed. Scrimgeour and Bellatrix appeared the same as they had before. She continued with her story. Now that she had started, the words flowed easier than she had expected.

"With the segregation lifted, Dad agreed to move us back to New York in 1966. However, he and Mum were still pretty distrustful of American wizards. Dad feared their prejudice, so we didn't go out much. Mum spent all of her time looking after Nana and Papa, but Nana died just after I turned eight, and Papa followed soon after. Mum... I'm not sure she ever completely recovered," Hermione said in a small voice. "She sort of had this routine she followed, and anything outside of that threw her off. She cried a lot, too... Jumped at noises outside and forbid Dad from teaching me magic at first.

"But Dad was adamant I learn to control my magic; he explained that my accidents were more likely to attract unwanted attention than anything else, so Mum finally relented, but only _after_ he promised to make the house undetectable."

"Undetectable?" Scrimgeour snorted.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at the man before looking to Hermione. "I suspect Miss Dagworth-Granger means the house was Unplottable. It would prevent the Magical Congress from detecting any magic that she or her father performed within the property's perimeters."

"Yes, that sounds familiar," she agreed, knowing Bellatrix was probably familiar with the concealment charm cast on Grimmauld Placed. "Dad wasn't great at potions, but I think he was quite good at charms. He's the only teacher I've ever had, but I certainly learned a lot from him. I don't think he was following any sort of regulated course, so I have no idea how I compare to others my age, but he tried to follow what he had learned from his own school years. He was home-schooled by his own parents, too, and I always liked that we shared that in common."

Hermione knew she had just opened up the doors for her own learning to be questioned. But she couldn't have said her father had been educated at Hogwarts, or he would have known other witches and wizards who'd gone there, and they in turn would have known him.

Scrimgeour scoffed. "Home-schooled and never left the house? How _convenient_."

Yes, Hermione had wondered if her story wasn't a bit too obvious. But she _had_ to cover herself; if they found people who supposedly should have known her parents, and if they began questioning those people, everything she had fabricated would fall to pieces.

It was Bellatrix, finding a lull in the conversation after Scrimgeour could offer no further complaint that Hermione had not answered his question (as in fact she very much had), who asked the next question. "How did your father die?"

It was a very simple, and yet very complicated too, answer. Hermione had needed something to 'clean up' the mess left behind by her years spent in America. Something that rid her of the house she had lived in with her Muggle grandparents, of all her belongings, of anything magical belonging to her father... of her father himself. She had needed something destructive to wipe away these problems so that they could not linger and crop up when she least expected. And she had the perfect experience from her own life to borrow for such an occasion, thanks to that oaf Vincent Crabbe.

However, such an answer would unquestionably raise eyebrows, and Hermione feared she would have trouble convincing them of her story, namely Scrimgeour.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the very real memory of such magical and disastrous heat fresh in her mind. Lies were told best when rooted in truth.

"There was a fire," she began, fingering the hems of her sleeves distractedly. "Mum was out, one of her rare trips to the grocer's; she only went when we were completely out of food. Even now... _then_... she was still scared of strangers. Well, Dad loved to use these outings to his advantage. Mum may have allowed me to learn magic, but if she knew the sorts of things Dad talked about while she was gone... well I fear we may have all starved." Snyde tittered, his chuckles only subsiding after a swift glare from Scrimgeour.

Hermione gave the reedy wizard a grim smile before continuing. "I know that my home-schooling is quite different from the education offered at magical schools like Hogwarts, so it may be lacking in a few places," she said carefully, noticing Scrimgeour's narrowed eyes. "But I have done quite a bit of reading, and my father had a fairly extensive library he'd inherited from his parents that he had managed to keep intact. And based on my readings, I'm certain a few of the things Dad taught me are... questionable... dangerous spells that no seventeen year old should be learning, but... Well, he was my Dad so while I was concerned, I didn't overly worry about it."

Avery was frowning, too. "What are you referring to, Miss Dagworth-Granger?"

"Well, the fire... Dad was teaching me about it, said I should know just in case. I got a bit nervous when he started telling me how dangerous the fire is, but I just thought it was something he wanted me to know for precaution. I never actually thought he would attempt to perform Fiendfyre."

Avery and Scrimgeour both gasped, and Snyde looked horrified. Professor Dumbledore continued to lounge in his chair, though he was watching Hermione astutely. Bellatrix's eyebrows had risen, but Hermione could not read her expression otherwise.

"Your father cast _Fiendfyre_ in your own home?" Avery inquired incredulously. "Was he insane!? Even for the most talented of wizards, Fiendfyre is extremely hard to control. How he could think, even if he was good at charms, that he had the skills to managed it in such confined quarters..."

Scrimgeour snorted. "Well he clearly didn't!" he sneered. "He set the entire place on fire and died with it!"

"And with only moments to spare, your father told you to run far away, is that right?" asked Bellatrix. She had gone back to taking notes.

Hermione nodded. "He told me to run and find Mum. I..." She choked back a sob, thinking of how Crabbe's body had been swallowed by the deadly flames, and Harry's valiant efforts to save Goyle and Draco from the same fate. "I wanted to help him, I really did. I should have done something–"

Dumbledore cleared his throat gently, gazing at her with sympathy. "You could not have saved him. The Fiendfyre was likely still connected to his wand, and he had only a matter of seconds before it spiraled out of control. You're lucky to have made it out alive."

"That's some very dark magic," Avery commented, still disturbed by her story. "I wonder where he picked that up. From his own parents, possibly?" He squinted at Hermione's patent. "His father was Ducard Dagworth-Granger... doesn't ring a bell, but we'll run a check. Your grandmother's name isn't listed here?"

"None of the women are," Hermione replied tartly, pretending to be miffed at the gender inequality. "We only kept track of the men, apparently, and only the direct line at that. I couldn't even use my patent to find out the names of potential relatives. I don't even know my grandmother's name, although I do have her wand," she offered, knowing they were going to question her ownership of it later anyway.

She pulled it out and handed it over to Bellatrix when the woman asked. "Hmm, vinewood... ten and three-quarters inch with... dragon heartstring? Interesting. And your grandparents would have been British, yes? I'll have someone contact Ollivander and see if we can't determine to whom this wand belonged." Her eyes danced with a challenge, and Hermione controlled herself in time to stop from swallowing nervously. She only relaxed when the woman handed her back the wand.

"All right, so your idiot father burned himself alive and left you and your mother homeless," Scrimgeour summed up, rather nastily. "So you returned to Britain in search of your father's relatives, since your Muggle mother is paranoid of anything magical? Seems a bit counterproductive if you ask me."

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. Instead, she tried to sound like a caring but slightly bitter daughter. "I suspect she was hoping Dad's relatives would take me under their wing... and she could live a normal life. She never said this aloud," she explained when Scrimgeour opened his mouth to rant about what a terrible mother she had. "However, I think Mum would have preferred me to have guardians who were prepared to deal with magic, and she could live in a separate house somewhere. I don't think she wanted to abandon me... but she had already been afraid of magic, and then Dad went and 'burned himself alive' as you said." Scrimgeour sneered again but Hermione plowed on. "It took a few months for Mum to gather some funds, since we'd kept most of our money in the house... but eventually we made it here in March. Mum was afraid of contacting wizards, so we mostly stuck to the Muggle world, staying in hotels and keeping low profiles, even though I felt it would have been faster to use magic. We went to places where Muggles talked of odd occurrences. We didn't find much, until..." She cast about for a town with wizards that wasn't too familiar to her. "...until Upper Flagley."

"Ah yes," Dumbledore chimed in sadly, and Hermione had no idea where he was going, but her guilt over yesterday remained, and she let him speak without holdup. The old man shook his head slowly. "Terrible what happened to that poor woman, your mother, I presume? I heard about it from Dorcas Meadows," he said to the others, when Avery and Scrimgeour both looked confused (and also irate, in Scrimgeour's case). Hermione marveled at Dumbledore's story, especially as he'd said he would not offer any further help. "Three wizards attacked a Muggle woman on the last night of July, just outside a pub in Upper Flagley. It wasn't in the Prophet, of course, since the perpetrators were not caught, but the remains of the victim that were found... bore effects of the Cruciatus Curse."

Bellatrix focused all of her attention on Hermione then, who bit her lip anxiously. The three Ministry wizards instead stared at Dumbledore, shocked by the information he had shared.

"Muggles reported hearing screams before they found the remains... and although only one victim was discovered, the Muggles reported hearing _two_ different females screaming that night," Dumbledore continued. He was not looking towards Hermione, but she knew the words were directed at her. Why would he suggest...?

Of course. Albus Dumbledore was a brilliant wizard. He must have sensed the curse's dark effects on Hermione herself, as faded as they might be. It made sense he would have analyzed her during their talk yesterday, or perhaps he had even figured it out while she had been sitting in his office now. Only a trained Healer could usually detect such residue, but Dumbledore was no ordinary wizard. He probably even knew she had a cursed scar on her arm.

"What do you mean, they found remains?" demanded Avery. "That Unforgivable doesn't sever the body, merely tortures it into insanity."

Hermione twitched involuntarily. She hadn't meant to get lost in her own mind but... Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her for minutes... hours... Hermione wasn't sure how long it had really been, but to her it could have lasted for several days. Her memories of it and the time that followed were still slightly fuzzy. She couldn't remember escaping Malfoy Manor, or when she had woken up at Shell Cottage. But she had very clear recollections of certain things. Of Draco Malfoy's white face at he watched his aunt carve into her arm the slur he'd spat her for years. Of the sound of Ron's voice screaming for her from below. Of how many times she had repeatedly told Bellatrix the Sword of Gryffindor was a fake. Of how she spent the rest of her time screaming aloud and internally praying for Harry Potter's safety, that even if Hermione Granger had died that day... Harry Potter must be kept safe. And for every second Bellatrix had wasted torturing her, for it _had_ been a complete waste since Hermione would never ever, _ever_ betray Harry, it was another second for the others to escape.

"Hermione."

Professor Dumbledore was kneeing in front of her chair, gazing into her eyes with concern. Hermione noticed that he was holding her hands, or rather, she was gripping his so tightly that her nails were digging into the wrinkled skin. Her entire body was rigid, save for her left arm; it was twitching.

"I... I'm sorry," she croaked, letting go of his hands quickly.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "It's quite alright, my dear. Although we were beginning to worry after calling your name a few times with no response."

And then she recalled that there were other people in the room with them, one of them Bellatrix Lestrange–no, Bellatrix _Black_. Merlin, Hermione was losing herself and she couldn't afford to now. Not after she had made it this far. _I've got to get home_.

"The remains were my fault," Hermione explained with a well-placed sob, answering their question. "I tried to grab Mum and Apparate away, but I've never really done it, only once with Dad when he taught me. And well, I've never done it alone properly and certainly not with two people, so... I splinched her!" She allowed the tears to flow freely. She choked over the further explanation that upon discovering only pieces of her mother, she had been so distraught that all she could think to do was burn them the Muggle way, eventually scattering the woman's ashes over a nearby lake. Hermione was almost impressed by the magnitude of her own lies and how well she was pulling them off, but suddenly the entire thing felt very Slytherin and manipulative, and that made her feel sick. But Hermione had decided she would do anything to get home, and now she was dealing with the consequences of her actions.

"We will of course be checking into these details, Albus," Avery was saying, referring to the attack in Upper Flagley. "We will also see if we can hunt down anyone who has heard of the Dagworth-Granger men listed on this patent; Snyde, copy these names down, won't you?" he barked at the red-haired man who'd been idly picking at his seat cushion. "How you could have missed a transfer request from a seventh-year..." He grumbled a bit about Synde's incompetence, and Hermione realized he was referring to the oversight in the Hogwarts enrollment that Dumbledore had mentioned yesterday.

Scrimgeour grilled her over a few more technicalities. How she had acquired school books without notice. Why she hadn't asked the Ministry for help from the start. Whether she was even at the same level as the other seventh years. Hermione sighed but answered his many questions. The others seemed satisfied with her simple answers of mail service and a fear of being labeled as a Mudblood like her attackers had suggested. As for her magical knowledge...

"I think her performance in class will speak for itself," Professor Dumbledore offered.

"That may be," Scrimgeour glowered, "but I for one would like to make sure she has _some_ level of skill. A small test, if you will."

Hermione couldn't say she hadn't been expecting something like this. Dumbledore waved his wand and the extra chairs vanished, and the remaining furniture moved out of the way, leaving an empty space in the middle of the room.

"Fine then," Avery rolled his eyes, ready for this meeting to be over and irked by Scrimgeour's refusal to let things go, "Miss Dagworth-Granger, you will submit yourself to a test? Okay then, Snyde you're clearly not capable, so Scrimgeour, Black, the two of you will do it."

Scrimgeour practically leered at Hermione, but Bellatrix's face was impassive, though she dutifully stood next to her fellow Auror.

"Two on one is hardly fair," Dumbledore pointed out.

Scrimgeour snickered. "Well, if Miss Dagworth-Granger can't handle it, I'm sure–"

Bellatrix's wand silently flew out of her hand, across the room, and into Hermione's outstretched one. Scrimgeour was furious, but the witch studied Hermione with new, appraising eyes.

* * *

.

* * *

Curious heads ducked back behind their desks or over their paperwork as Bellatrix Black strolled leisurely down the hallways of Level One. Her heels clacked upon the shiny black marble of the floor as she passed each office, none of their occupants worth even a shred of her attention. She bypassed her own office, the largest on the floor to everyone else's envy. And she didn't even work directly under the Minister, she shouldn't even _have_ an office on this level; she had her own, Auror office on Level Two! But Bellatrix paid the gossip no mind. The Minister liked having her close...

"What have I told you about knocking?" the man snapped the moment Bellatrix set foot into his office unannounced.

She inspected her nails with care. "That there are more important things?"

Minister of Magic Tom Riddle glared at her before returning to his paperwork. She knew he trusted her to close the door and get straight to business. It was one of the things he liked most about her, among other... assets. Closing the door, she sat down and crossed her legs, before pulling out her purple notebook and passing it over.

"Today's notes."

Riddle flipped through the book with hardly any interest. "Well, is the Mudblood in Azkaban yet? I need an excuse to get out of this accursed office."

The witch smiled. "Nop-pe." She deliberately popped the _p_ to annoy him. She'd get straight to business all right, after she'd had a bit of fun first.

"And why the hell not?" growled the Minister, seething from his ornate chair.

Bellatrix was enjoying seeing him all riled up, for she hardly ever had any control over the man. Of course, she could only dangle the information in front of him for so long before he lost control, but she would take the small victories where she could.

"Well, for starters, if you would read my notes," she simpered, pleased at his growing frustration. "You'd see that the girl isn't a Mudblood at all, but rather the descendant of Hector Dagworth-Granger."

The Minister scanned her notes further. "And you believe this?"

Bellatrix shrugged unconcernedly. "Avery and Snyde do. Scrimgeour hates being wrong, but he can't go against his superior. I'm sure he would have hexed the girl near the end there, if the rest of us hadn't been in the room."

"If there is any doubt of her patent, why is she being allowed to remain at Hogwarts?" Riddle inquired, still pouring over her notes irritably. "I notice you withheld your own opinion."

"Her patent is of no concern to me," Bellatrix admitted, watching with glee as Riddle's brow ticked. "She obviously possesses a great magical knowledge far beyond the typical Mudblood, so logically she must be a witch."

Riddle glared. "Stop talking in circles and make your damn point."

"Oh fine," she said, disappointed her fun was at an end. "I think it would be in our best interest to keep up with Miss Hermione Dagworth-Granger. Her story sounds like a fat lie, but the emotions on her face were certainly real. There is something she is not telling us. I definitely picked up on traces of dark magic on her, left there by a curse. But most of all... I think she is very clever."

The Minister's lips drew into a sharp line. "You want me to spare her from Azkaban because she's _clever_?"

Narrowing her eyes, Bellatrix stared him down, something no one else in the Ministry would dare to do. "Scrimgeour could have sliced her pretty face to pieces with his eyes alone. However, the girl was mindful of me at all times." Hermione Dagworth-Granger may have thought she was being subtle, but Bellatrix had felt the girl's eyes on her almost the entire meeting. "Out of all of the powerful wizards in that room, she feared me most. Disarmed me as soon as she was given the chance."

Tom Riddle had stopped glaring and was gazing at the notebook with deep interest, his eyes roaming over the name _Hermione Dagworth-Granger_. "Well. Now that _is_ something."

Bellatrix grinned wickedly. "I already spoke to her after the interrogation, over tea. She seemed relaxed upon first glance, but I could feel the nerves underneath. She told me I'm pretty," she said cheekily, to which Riddle scoffed. "But really, I think she may have been admiring my magical talent. She obviously knew who was the most powerful person in the room."

Here, the Minister laughed. "Perhaps your head has levitated to a new height of arrogance."

"Please," the witch mocked. "We both know I'm the best Auror you have, or do you plan on giving Scrimgeour the office right outside this door? Now, over tea, I laid the foundations of trust. I do not think it is there yet, but I do think we should keep an eye out and try to get her on our side as quickly as possible. Merlin knows what Dumbledore will be telling her."

Riddle was still looking through the notes. "Your cousins are still at school, yes? Have them report to you every so often. Tell them to get to close to her. Perhaps she will feel more at ease around people of her own age. Besides..." Riddle's gaze wandered over Bellatrix's figure. "Your family has always possessed devilish good looks, I am sure gaining Miss Dagworth-Granger's interest will be of no challenge for the sons of the House of Black."

Bellatrix hissed. "I have only _one_ cousin!" she spat venomously. "We do not speak of that... that traitor!"

"Well, whomever you are going to owl, get to it already," Tom Riddle commanded, shooing her from his office. His eyes watched her backside as she strode away to her desk next door, before his attention was drawn to the notes once again.

"Hermione Dagworth-Granger..." His lip curled. "Oh, how I cannot wait until we meet..."

* * *

.

* * *

 _._

 _The full title of this chapter is 'The Life and Lies of Hermione Dagworth-Granger' but it has been shortened by ffnet's limitations._

 _This chapter was much longer and included the examination between Hermione and Scrimgeour, but it was dragging on and needed to be wrapped up. It's already 3,000 words longer than the first two chapters, and here I had wanted them all to remain the same length. Don't worry, any loose ends of the interrogation will be tied up in the next chapter.  
_

 _Finally, we will get back to Hogwarts and classes! As much as I dislike backstory chapters in time travel fanfics, I felt this chapter had to be done, or else Hermione would lack credibility in the story. These things had to be explained, as dull as this chapter may have been. Though at least Bellatrix made it somewhat exciting, yes? And Tom Riddle? What could he be planning, ohoho..._

 _I'm really hoping Hermione meets Regulus next chapter, but we'll see what happens. I'm also working on a Hermione/Sirius Christmas story; it will be much shorter than this, and I hope to have the first chapter up this weekend. Thank you to my readers, as always!_


	4. Sirius Black

**If It Had Happened Otherwise**

* * *

.

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

 _"Everything looked the same, but I suddenly felt like it wasn't. Like everything had been taken apart, brick by brick, flower bed by flower bed, and put back together in the wrong order."_  
-Jordanna Fraibergberg

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

Hermione was surprised to learn that she had finished her meeting with the Ministry just before noon. Considering how exhausted she actually felt, it was amazing, and relieving, that only a few hours had passed. She would get to attend her afternoon class! Her eyes lit with the prospect of lessons; she might be attending this school as a ruse but that didn't mean Hermione Granger couldn't enjoy learning. And seeing as how this was a different universe that lacked things such as werewolves and dementors, she wondered what it gained instead. Hermione was curious to find out.

She took her time descending the staircases to the Great Hall. She was still a bit rattled from the Ministry interrogation, not to mention the unexpected, familiar faces. Rufus Scrimgeour turned out to be just as ridiculous as he had been in her own time, becoming fixated on needless matters; he had used the little 'practical exam' to throw various spells at her, hoping to discredit her homeschooling in any way, and growing frustrated as she perfectly blocked each and every one. It went on for quite some time, until Avery stepped in and announced they were going to be late for a very important meeting if Scrimgeour didn't "just let it go already." Hermione had been very relieved to hear that they were finally leaving; although sparring with Scrimgeour wasn't even close to the dueling she had experienced in the Department of Mysteries, or later during the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione felt thoroughly drained, not only from the wandwork, but from all of the lie-telling as well.

However, to her displeasure, Bellatrix Black had _not_ left with the other three. She had remained behind and requested an audience with Hermione Dagworth-Granger over tea. Dumbledore had offered up his private sitting room, and though Hermione had glanced at him with urgent invitation, he had bowed out and left the two women alone.

As terrified as she had been during the entire half hour, Hermione was forced to admit that nothing had happened. At least, nothing she had been expecting. Bellatrix seemed quite taken with her, actually, though Hermione didn't believe the woman's interest was as innocent as she made it sound. Bellatrix has praised the girl at keeping her composure during what must have been a _difficult ordeal_ , especially having to relive the details of her parents' deaths. Bellatrix had gone on for a while about the Ministry, and of how she would like to see more women taking an interest in government jobs ("aside from being silly secretaries," she had mused). Bellatrix's entire manner of speech was very different from the deranged slurs Hermione was used to hearing, but she supposed even _her_ Bellatrix Lestrange must have initially been brought up to be a proper society witch, having been born into the House of Black.

The woman had continued on to state that she was very interested in seeing Hermione work for the Ministry someday, something that Hermione herself had been considering... just not, well, _here_. She had of course been very polite throughout the whole exchange, keeping up her act of thinking Bellatrix pretty and admirable. She thought she was convincing enough, but if any of those Ministry workers could spot her flaws, it would be Bellatrix. Hermione's barely touched tea had grown cold by the time Bellatrix decided to return to work. The older woman had requested to meet again in the near future, perhaps during a Hogsmeade weekend, and Hermione would have to regrettably oblige. Outwardly, she smiled and thanked the woman for her time, but on the inside, Hermione was on the verge of a breakdown.

Making future plans with the woman who tortured her, the woman who murdered Sirius Black and so many others, was not on her to-do list. She couldn't afford to have the Ministry sniffing around, keeping an interest in her! She had no idea if they would find fault in her sob story, with Bellatrix contacting Ollivander's, and Avery checking into the details of her and her mother's supposed attackers.

Albus Dumbledore had really come through for her with that one. She hadn't the time to question it then; Hermione had simply adjusted her story to fit the details he provided, inventing the splinching detail on the spot. It wasn't exactly the same as the story she had told her roommates, but it wasn't vastly different enough to raise eyebrows either. Hermione couldn't believe how Professor Dumbledore had supported her, even after her blackmail trick. "Well, Ms. Dagworth-Granger, it is like you said... my mother _would_ have lent you a hand. But as she is no longer with us, I acted upon her behalf."

Hermione had wanted to ask if Kendra Dumbledore had passed away before or after the Mudblood Decrees were in place, but that had seemed a bit rude, especially after everything the man had done for her. She could tell he was still suspicious of her motives for attending Hogwarts, but perhaps some of Hermione's genuine passion for learning had made itself known to the old wizard, or maybe Professor Dumbledore could simply tell Hermione had no ill intentions. He had after all recognized the dark magic lingering around her; it wouldn't be a wild guess to think Albus Dumbledore could sense things the average witch and wizard could not. Whatever his reason, Hermione had thanked him profusely.

Before she had departed his office for lunch, the headmaster had given Hermione her new class timetable. It was similar to the one she would have used at her own Hogwarts. She was taking NEWT-level Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. But her heart sank at the small schedule; only _four_ classes. Hermione figured that her fake wizard father likely wouldn't have taught her six years worth of Arithmancy or Ancient Runes, as much as it hurt her to hide her vast knowledge in both subjects. In addition, the headmaster had reasoned that, having spent very little time outside the walls of her own home, Hermione was unlikely to be familiar with many of the plants and fungi that had been covered in the first six years of study at Hogwarts. Although she could have passed the Herbology OWL right then, she held her tongue and nodded in agreement. She reminded herself that less classes meant less homework, which in turn meant more free time for her to spend in the library.

Despite Scrimgeour's insistence that she was too incompetent to handle seventh-year courses, Professor Dumbledore had no such concerns. He kindly told Hermione that if she found the coursework too difficult, she could easily be moved down to a lower year.

Hermione scoffed. As if _that_ would happen.

She could hear the chatter of the other students as she approached the Great Hall. For some reason, it sounded abnormally loud, even for lunchtime...

The din quieted as Hermione walked into the room, nearly every head swiveling to stare at her with mixed expressions. Then–

" _She's alive!"_

"I knew it!"

"–thought for sure the Aurors would take care of it–"

"I _told_ you she wasn't a Mudblood–"

The hall exploded into cheers, and Hermione forgot where she was as crowds of students gathered around her, their eager faces looking for details of her harrowing escape from what, she learned, they had expected to be her last moments alive. Word of her meeting with the Ministry of Magic must have spread, although just what sort of details were floating around– _honestly_ , her eyebrows rose at one Hufflepuff's story that she had single-handedly out-dueled ten Aurors, something she tried to correct, but there were so many people _pushing_ and _pulling_ –

"HERMIONE! Move aside, you lot! Merlin forbid the poor girl starves to death because she can't get a plate!"

Marlene's blaring voice carried over Hermione's admirers, and finally the crowd parted enough for the other girl's hand to clasp around Hermione's wrist and drag her away to the Gryffindor table. The students there roared with applause, clapping and patting her on the back proudly, for of course they had known all along she would return ("She's a bloody lion after all!"). Marlene shooed them away with a bat of her eyelashes and a shake of her fist, and at last Hermione found herself seated between the golden-haired beauty and Alice King. She bit back a groan as Remus Lupin took a seat opposite her.

"Well go on then," Marlene urged as Hermione made herself a plate, "tell us what _really_ happened!"

Next to Remus, Peter Pettigrew leaned forward hungrily. From their other side, Penny was digging into her meal, though she glanced up with interest. Several fifth years sitting close by were dying to listen in, but Marlene chased them away with threats, much to everyone but Alice's amusement. Alice simply rolled her eyes and told her friend to _sit down_.

Hermione looked around at each of the faces watching her, all waiting to hear what had really occurred during her meeting. She wasn't used to all of the attention; usually these sorts of things happened to Harry. "What?" she feigned, cutting up her chicken. "You heard that boy, I took out ten Aurors and fled the scene."

A heavy slap on the back had Hermione choking on the bite she had just taken, and she glared at James Potter through her coughing as he joined the group. "I heard Merula crying to anyone who would listen that you attacked one of the Ministry workers and could have killed her father in the process."

Choking and anger subsiding, Hermione looked at him curiously. "Who's Merula?"

James opened his mouth, but it was Penny who answered, stabbing her food as she did. "Merula Snyde is the most self-entitled _cow_ to ever walk the earth." Penny continued to viciously mash her potatoes. "She brags about her wealth every second of every day, except for when she is spitting rude remarks into your face and framing you for dipping her hair in black ink."

Chuckling, Remus reached over to place a hand over hers to cease the violent jabbings. "I think those potatoes have been effectively mashed beyond death." Penny pinked, eyes widening as she snatched her hand away from his quickly. Remus frowned, and Hermione quirked a brow, but both of their attentions turned to Alice as she began speaking.

"Oh come off it, I'm sure it was a very _normal_ and organized meeting, with a lot of boring paperwork and official questioning," she dismissed, pointing a fork at James when he started to argue. "I doubt that _any_ of the stories we heard earlier actually happened, but Penny is completely correct about Merula Snyde. She's a seventh year Slytherin and a nasty piece of work. Why just this morning during Transfiguration, she tried to turn poor Eric Smith's watch into a large snake."

"She's had it out for him ever since he Apparated on top of her during the exams last year," Marlene snickered.

Hermione peered across the hall over to the Slytherin table, where many of the students were stiffly eating their meals. She spotted Snape near the end of the table, reading his Potions textbook and sneering when those around him made too much noise.

Further down, a group of girls who looked to be Hermione's own age were conversing. One of them had stringy reddish-brown hair that looked vaguely familiar. _"...attacked one of the Ministry workers and could have killed her father in the process."_ Merula... Snyde, was it? She had to be Nathaniel Snyde's daughter then. Hermione watched as the girl sobbed animatedly to her classmates, although most of them seemed uninterested. She must be the Pansy Parkinson of this generation then.

And from the sound of it, she and Penny were bitter enemies. The pigtailed girl was still seething across the table, although the conversation had moved on from Merula to Merula's cohort, a girl named Ismelda who was apparently silent but deadly. "She comes up with the worst sort of curses, believe me," Marlene said, lifting her shirt to show Hermione a long scar. Alice hurriedly reached over and pulled the other girl's shirt down as the Marauders began wolf-whistling, and she smacked each of them in turn.

Finally, the discussion returned to Hermione's meeting with Ministry. Feeling all eyes upon her, Hermione swallowed her last bit of food and wondered how Harry had dealt with such attention.

"It was like Alice said, mostly," she explained, their eager faces dropping when she revealed nothing exciting had taken place. "They asked a lot of questions and such... and then they left." She felt less details were better among people she barely knew. She doubted Remus Lupin or James Potter would betray her, but Pettigrew certainly would. Hermione wanted to share as little as possible, so aside from listening as her housemates mocked Nathaniel Snyde, she didn't name any of the other people she had met.

Watching James Potter go off on a rant about Merula's horrible qualities that she had inherited from her rich mother, Hermione missed Harry greatly. It seemed silly, seeing as she had been returning to Hogwarts without him or Ron originally. But she would have seen them in Hogsmeade, or on holiday. She would have been surrounded at school by Ginny and Neville and Luna. She would have taken seven classes and been the top student in each one. Probably. Definitely. She might have been Head Girl. She stared at her empty plate with longing for _her_ Hogwarts, her home.

Noticing that Remus was studying her carefully, and that Alice kept shooting furtive glances at her, Hermione budged up and laughed at one of Jame's jokes, though the smile didn't quite meet her eyes.

* * *

After lunch, they headed off to Potions. It would be Hermione's first seventh year class, unofficial or otherwise. She was still a bit upset at having missed Transfiguration; it was one of her better subjects, and she would have loved to see Professor McGonagall again. Now she would have to wait until Tuesday to see her Head of House in class.

Walking to the dungeons felt almost normal. She had her wand and books, and other students hurried up and down the halls and staircases. They could almost be her _real_ classmates. But there was no grief etched into the lines of their faces. These children had never known the fear and terror Voldemort had brought upon Hermione's friends. The school interior was almost exactly as she remembered it, before the Death Eaters had destroyed walls and ceilings.

But something was amiss. This feeling of _wrong wrong wrong_ sat in Hermione's stomach like rotten food. It was like those dreams she'd had before, where she was in Hogwarts or the Burrow or even her own home, but things were slightly different, as they always were in dreams. It felt as if someone had turned Hogwarts inside out and back again, and everything was in its place but not where it quite should be, but she couldn't figure out _why_.

Hermione was relieved to find that Potions was still taught by Horace Slughorn. Although he wasn't a beloved teacher of hers, the man was easygoing and not likely to question her mysterious appearance and traumatic sob story. Hopefully she could blind him with her brilliance if he started to become suspicious. Slughorn loved collecting brilliant minds for his Slug Club. She knew Severus Snape and Lily Evans had been two of his favorites.

Despite the heat from the cauldron on the professor's desk, a chill slid down her spine as she remembered Harry's mother had never been given the chance to meet Slughorn here.

Playing the role of a new, awed, and subdued student, Hermione followed Alice and Penny to one of the large tables. The room was hot and stuffy, and all three girls were soon discarding their black robes. Marlene would not be joining them, as she had gleefully explained to Hermione that she had not secured the required Potions OWL, and from her tone of mirth, Hermione wondered if she hadn't failed on purpose.

She noted that James Potter and Remus Lupin were also present, but Peter Pettigrew was nowhere to be seen. The Gryffindor boys were joined at their table by two Hufflepuffs, a tanned-skinned girl with glasses and a rather petulant-looking blond boy. A group of four Ravenclaws surrounded a third table. The fourth and last table had attracted a gang of Slytherins, one of whom Hermione recognized as Merula Snyde. Strangely, Severus Snape, Potions Prodigy, was not among them.

The clock tower bell rang just as two more Slytherins squeezed into the classroom: a dark girl with voluminous hair held back only by a green headband, and... none other than Snape himself. Looking around at the full tables, his eyes rested upon the empty spot next to Penny, but he sneered and headed purposefully to the end of the room, to a smaller table Hermione had not noticed before. It seemed only big enough for one or two students. Slughorn sighed in an "oh if you must" way, though he was clearly unhappy that Snape lacked partners. Hermione knew Snape would swear up and down he could brew any potion perfectly with his eyes closed, even those which were easier done with two people.

The other Slytherin remained hovering near the door, glancing at the tables with uncertainty. Hermione saw Merula glare at the girl as she started towards her fellow Slytherins, something Hermione found harsh even by Snake standards (even if their table _was_ full). "Over here," Penny spoke up, waving the girl over to the empty spot at the Gryffindor girls' table. Considering the animosity between Penny and the other Slytherins so far, Hermione was surprised by this display of welcoming.

Penny greeted the Slytherin warmly. "Hey, Liz." She looked to the other Slytherins who were all hatefully eyeing them now. "I see your housemates are as pleasant as ever."

"Oh, what I wouldn't give to stuff a Bowtruckle down Ismelda's skirt," the Slytherin, Liz, said, taking off her outer robes like everyone else and rolling up her sleeves. "She already tried to transfigure my eggs into toads."

Alice cringed in disgust. "You didn't eat any of them, did you?"

Liz ran a hand through her dark hair. "Of course not. Ismelda's shite at transfiguration anyway." She noticed Hermione. "Hi, you're Hermione Dagworth-Granger, right? I'm Elizabeth Tuttle, but you can call me Liz," she introduced, shaking Hermione's hand. "I don't know how aware you are of the house rivalry between Slytherin and... well, pretty much anyone else, but I promise I won't hex your face off like the others." She looked thoughtful. "Well, not unless you put me in a right state."

Slughorn cleared his throat at that moment, and all conversations died out. "Well, the time has come!" He faked wiping a tear from his eye. "You've reached your final year of Potions, and might I say you all have progressed splendidly over the years," he complimented. "Owing of course, to my teachings." He wiggled his shoulders pompously. "At the end of the year, you will be of course taking your NEWT exams. But not to worry! Under my tutelage, you will all be more than ready."

He lectured them about NEWTs for another five minutes, and Hermione had to refrain more than once from raising her hand to inquire about some detail or other. _You won't even be here long enough to take these exams that don't really matter,_ she reminded herself. Merlin, she hoped she found a way to return home before June.

Professor Slughorn was just about to explain the lesson of the day when the classroom door opened noisily, and yet another student squeezed in.

The boy had the most gorgeous dark wavy locks Hermione had ever seen, even more so than Marlene's beautiful curls. He had already taken off his robes in anticipation of the stuffy classroom, and they were draped over his shoulder casually. Even further, he had removed his sweater too, clad only in a button-down shirt and pants. Merula, another Slytherin girl next to her, and the only girl from Ravenclaw were practically swooning at the sight. The boy flipped his hair out of his face, revealing beautiful high cheekbones, and Hermione's jaw dropped.

"I see we're continuing your tradition of a late entrance this year, Mr. Black?" Slughorn chortled.

Sirius Black flashed his teeth in the man's direction, charm oozing from every ounce of his posture. "Just living up to expectations, sir."

Slughorn tittered again, waving him off to find a seat as he waddled up to the blackboard. Sirius gazed around the room for an empty seat, and his eyes briefly lingered on Hermione. She realized she was still gaping like an idiot and promptly shut her mouth. He smirked, but his attitude deflated as he noticed the only remaining seat was at Snape's small table.

He strode to the back of the room, bypassing James and Remus without so much as a glance. Crossing his arms upon reaching the back table, Sirius scowled at how Snape had spread his equipment over the entire surface.

"Shove over, Snivellus," he ordered, pushing Snape's cauldron so hard it almost fell off the edge.

Snape sent him a look of deepest loathing. "Sod off, Black. This is _my_ table."

They were staring daggers at each other, magic threatening to crackle in the air around them. Hermione had heard most of the Marauders vs. Snivellus stories, either secondhand from Harry, or from Lupin and Sirius themselves. She knew that Sirius and Snape had particularly hated each other, but it was one thing to hear about it, and another to see it now in person. Harry and Draco hated each other, surely, but those two had nothing on Sirius Black and Severus Snape. She imagined it could have only been worse between James and Snape, with Lily being fought over between them; she wondered if a lack of Lily would change anything... Hermione's eyes drifted over to James, expecting him to stare Snape down as well or offer Sirius some sort of backup. Instead, she found the Potter boy lounging back in his chair, seeming almost bored. Remus wasn't paying attention either; he was busy copying the notes Slughorn had begun to magic across the blackboard.

It was only after Sirius and Snape had both drawn their wands that Professor Slughorn chose to intervene. "Now, now, boys, you know better," he scolded, sounding like a father fondly chiding his little tykes for eating too many sweets. "I'm sure the two of you can manage to share a table just for today, hmm? Don't force me to take points from my own House on the first day of class..."

He waddled back up to the front of the classroom, where his cauldron was emitting a soft, yellowish glow. Sirius and Snape continued to glare at each other for another moment, before the latter sighed and crowded his belongings onto one side of the desk. Sirius stared at the empty spot that had been made for him, looking disgusted at having to share the same breathing space as 'Snivellus'. He finally lowered himself onto the stool with great reluctance, setting his bag on the floor as he did so. Still holding his wand, he looked back up to the front of the class, and Hermione quickly turned around so he wouldn't catch her staring again.

Sirius Black had better manners than she'd thought. Hermione had half-expected him to do something foolish, like march over where the Hufflepuffs sat across from James and Remus and throw one of them towards Snape's corner instead. She was surprised that neither of his fellow Marauders had seemed interested in his predicament. Not only that, but it appeared Slughorn heavily favored Sirius Black over a superb Potions student and member of his own House! Hermione did not miss how the professor hadn't threatened to dock any points from Gryffindor.

Alice, who had been watching Hermione gape at Black like a fish out of water, rolled her eyes in exasperation, not doubt chalking her new housemate's actions up as a girl swept away by Black's handsome physique. Hermione quickly tried to explain that, no, she was _not_ a drooling bimbo like Merula and the other girls, but Professor Slughorn began speaking again.

"So! I thought we'd begin the year on a good note, _literally_ ," he explained, gesturing to the cauldron on his desk. It was swirling happily with a buttery liquid. "Today you all will be brewing the Elixir to Induce Euphoria! Who can tell me the effects?"

Without even thinking about it, Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape's hand followed only a second later, as well as a tall boy from Ravenclaw. She realized too late that she shouldn't have been so hasty; she was trying to keep a low profile! But Professor Slughorn had already cast his eyes upon the new student who had raised her hand before he had even finished speaking.

"Ah, yes, Miss Dagworth-Granger!" he exclaimed, approaching her table. "I've been waiting to meet you!"

"Erm, you have?" she asked nervously, wondering just what Dumbledore had told the staff about her.

"Of course! The last descendant of Hector Dagworth-Granger, Potions Pioneer!" the man gushed, stars twinkling in his eyes. "I am very much looking forward to seeing your talents!"

Hermione's nervousness vanished at this typical Slughorn behavior. Of course he was only interested because of her family lineage, and though she wasn't terrible at potions, she certainly hadn't been his best student back in her sixth year. Even if Harry hadn't been receiving tips from the Half-Blood Prince, she doubted Slughorn would have found her a cauldron genius.

"So, go on then, tell us about the Elixir."

She easily slipped back into her recitement of knowledge like clockwork. "The Elixir to Induce Euphoria does exactly that: it give the drinker a sense of irrational happiness. It can temporarily cure depression, similar to a Cheering Charm, which appropriately is part of the brewing process. If made correctly, the potion will emit a rainbow when finished."

"Hoho! Right you are, my dear," the professor beamed. "Ten points to Gryffindor!" He walked back to his desk. "You have the rest of the afternoon to brew this potion, and based on the time... we'll have several minutes at the end of class to taste what you have made! You'll find the instructions in your textbooks, though I have highlighted the ingredients on the board."

After being outed by Slughorn, Hermione reasoned there was no need to hide any potion-making prowess she might possess. She didn't expect to be anywhere near Snape's level of genius, but at least she wouldn't need to hold back, low profile or not. Used to gathering enough ingredients for herself, Harry, Ron, and occasionally Neville, Hermione excused herself from the table, telling the other three girls she would collect enough for all of them. They seemed surprised at her ease about the classroom, considering she had been home-schooled, but although they each had raised eyebrows, none of them commented on it, perhaps falling back on Slughorn's praises of the Dagworth-Granger legacy.

Snape was in and out of the storeroom before the other students had even moved. Hermione joined the back of the queue behind Merula and the other Slytherin girl. Merula was clearly the ringleader, pulling ingredients off the shelves and dropping them into the other girl's hands. She caught Hermione staring.

"Bit of advice, new girl," she jeered, twirling her wand around her fingers. " _Stay out of my way_. You may be related to some famous dead guy, but _I'm_ Slughorn's favorite." Hermione raised an eyebrow, less than impressed with this arrogant display. Merula interpreted this as confusion. "If the Gryffindor gorgons didn't inform you already, I'm Merula Snyde. I am _not_ someone you want to mess with. That little display of yours with the Ministry earlier?" She leaned forward menacingly, her dark eyes lined with purple shadows. "That was a show of blatant disrespect for my father, and I don't take something like that lightly."

Her crony, a tall girl with black hair that practically hid half of her face, stepped forward too. "Ismelda Murk," she introduced, her voice low but threatening. "If Penny Hayface is smart, she'll have warned you about me." Her lip curled. "I'm _fantastic_ with curses, especially ones that make you bleed." Ismelda had a terrifying aura about her, with a smile that looked completely sadistic. "How about it? Shall we find out if your blood is _filthy_?"

Bellatrix Lestrange and this girl would have gotten along well.

While a few playground bullies weren't enough to scare her, Hermione preferred to avoid any more confrontations. She took a step back, hoping that if she gave the two girls some distance, they would drop the scare tactics. She backed up into something solid, and when she looked up, Sirius Black was looking down at her.

He swung an arm around Hermione's shoulder. "You birds are having a party and didn't invite me?" he asked, voice heavily dramatized. "I'm hurt."

At once, Merula and Ismelda withdrew their claws and completely changed personalities. It was so abrupt that Hermione blinked repeatedly. "Oh! _Sirius_!" Merula was practically purring. "We were just explaining things to the new girl." Ismelda nodded. "Indeed. We were just warning her not to provoke a snake, since it could have venomous fangs." She leered at Hermione again, before batting her eyelashes at Sirius.

Hermione knew Sirius Black had been extremely handsome and popular during his youth, but she never would have thought to include Slytherins among his list of admirers, even if he _was_ a Black. He had shunned everything about his family and their Pureblood beliefs, which surely would have turned off any interest shown by Slytherin House.

Sirius himself seemed unfazed by the two girls' lies. He kept his arm around Hermione. "Oh, is that so?" he inquired, giving them both a smoldering look that had the girls swooning all over again. "Well, be that as it may, you might want to get started on your potions." He gazed at each of them in turn for effect. "I want you both to be incredibly happy by the end of class."

The two Slytherins, who had been threatening Hermione only moments before, giggled and flounced away back to their table, both lost in thought, much to the displeasure of their two other partners.

Sirius cleared his throat, recapturing Hermione's attention. He was looking down at her with that same smolder, though it held some amusement now, too. "Shall we?"

He led her inside the storeroom, and Hermione, still processing what had just happened, allowed him to help her pick out the ingredients, and in hindsight, it was probably good to appear as if she didn't already know where everything was kept. Sirius Black was good-looking, Hermione wasn't about to refute that. And she knew he had been somewhat of a womanizer back in the day; she wasn't going to argue against that, either. But _that_ , just now... What in the world? He had sent one dazzling smile their way, and those two harpies had melted into butter at his feet. As if Hermione would ever act so stupidly around a boy. She rolled her eyes; that would be the day.

"Why so lost in thought, Hermione?" a husky voice breathed into her ear.

Hermione jumped about a foot into the air, scrambling away from Sirius Black as fast as she could. He watched her intently, with that perfect smile still on his face. She had no idea what he was doing, but she suddenly realized how alone and hidden the two of them were together in the storeroom. The way he had whispered her first name was positively _predatory_. And it made her incredibly uncomfortable.

Her stomach churned again. _Wrong wrong wrong._

"Ah... thanks for helping me," she stammered, throwing one last ingredient into the pile. "Erm... bye."

And she raced out of there as if her life depended on it.

Alice immediately noticed something was wrong. "What took you so long?" she demanded, divvying up the ingredients. Hermione shook her head, not wanting to speak at the moment, for she feared her voice would be too shaky. Alice's eyes narrowed as she watched Sirius Black saunter out of the storeroom with a satisfied smirk. Hermione averted her gaze, though she could practically feel his gray eyes burning a hole into the back of her head.

Penny and Liz began working on their potions and swapping stories about their summers. Alice scooted closer to Hermione as they focused on their own work.

"Did he do anything to you?" she whispered worriedly.

Hermione looked up, dismayed. "What? Of course not," she replied hastily, hoping Alice couldn't hear the slightly higher pitch to her voice. Technically, nothing _had_ happened. In fact, Sirius had actually rescued her from an intense meeting with Merula and Ismelda. "I just... erm, well, was familiarizing myself with where everything was kept."

Hermione worked quietly, chopping her Shrivelfig into perfectly sized pieces before adding them to her simmering cauldron. The liquid turned a beautiful shade of turquoise. She flipped the page in her textbook, only to find several tiny comments scrawled into the margins. _Merlin's pants_. She leafed through the entire book in disbelief, huffing as she noticed that Severus Snape had scribbled corrections on nearly half of the pages. She didn't notice any self-made jinxes or hexes, but her eyebrow ticked at the black ink staining the pages of her book. Of course, since she had magically duplicated his texts, she couldn't simply remove the ink; it was _part_ of the book now. She had half a mind to ignore everything he had written. However, it might work to her advantage to brew amazing potions... it wouldn't look too suspicious... Slughorn already expected it, after all...

She stirred the potion gently until it turned bright blue like the instructions said. Only Severus Snape seemed to be doing as well as her; everyone else's cauldrons were still turquoise, or worse. The boy from Hufflepuff's potion was lime-green and bubbling slightly. One of the Ravenclaw boys was sweating copiously over his pot, which kept changing from turquoise to blue and back again. Hermione figured he probably wouldn't be sweating so much if he would just take off his oversized Quidditch scarf. _Boys._

After another ten minutes of simmering, Hermione added the porcupine quills ( _Add one every ten seconds_ , Snape's writing dictated) and allowed it to simmer into a deep purple color. Next to her, Alice was glaring at her cauldron with contempt as it hissed before settling into a dull mauve. "How are you doing that?" she asked loudly, drawing the other two girls' attention.

"That's amazing, Hermione," Liz said in awe. "My cauldron looks like a blue fire crab threw up into it."

Penny wasn't faring much better; her potion looked to be dark navy.

"Ah, watch it, Mr. Egwu!" Professor Slughorn's voice boomed from the Ravenclaw table. The boy with the thick scarf ducked just in time as his cauldron bubbled over. Some of it splashed into his neighbor's pot, causing that potion to crackle loudly before catching fire. Unfortunately, the tall boy in front of _that_ cauldron didn't move fast enough, the flames engulfing his face.

The Slytherin table snickered and jeered behind their hands as scarfy Mr. Egwu escorted his fellow Ravenclaw from the room up to the hospital wing. His lack of eyebrows reminded Hermione fondly of Seamus Finnigan.

Almost an hour later, Hermione added the last bit of Shrivelfig and smiled as her potion became a warm pink. Alice's cauldron was hissing still, though it was pinkish in color. Penny's potion was also pink, but Liz Tuttle's appeared white and chunky. "I'm much better with animals, not potions," she explained, sighing in defeat as Slughorn shook his head at her.

As her potion simmered into an orange hue, Hermione glanced around the room. The two remaining Ravenclaws were fairing much better than their housemates, who were still in the infirmary. The Hufflepuffs looked a bit worse, though not nearly as bad as James's bubbling concoction. Remus, whose own potion was a healthy pink, was looking over his shoulder and pointing out that his friend had forgotten to add the castor beans. James let out a huge stream of curses that had Professor Slughorn docking the ten points Hermione had won for their house earlier.

The Slytherin table all had cauldrons full of varying pink shades, though Merula's looked best. The thin boy across from her had the worst-looking one; it was more lavender than rosy. Hermione's eyes drifted over to Snape. He was surely following the same written instructions, and she wondered if he had already tested these potions out over the summer, as most of them already had corrections scribbled in the margins.

Next to him, Sirius Black was lounging on his stool, hardly paying any attention to his cauldron, lavishing it instead on the girls at the next table. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her work, adding the last ingredient wormwood. Snape's scrawl underneath caught her eye. _Add peppermint after wrmwd to counter singing_.

 _Singing?_ She supposed overly happy people might burst into song, but... Hermione eyed the storeroom, and Sirius Black sitting close to it. Nope. She was not about to go back there again, not when Sirius could trap her in there and pull... well, whatever it was that he had been attempting to pull. On the other hand, Hermione _really_ didn't want to burst into song at dinner, either. Subtly, she reached down into her bookbag, pretending to look for something. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, she nonverbally summoned a bottle of peppermint from her beaded bag, slipping into her school bag and removing it as if it had been there all along. She quickly added the peppermint and threw the bottle into her bookbag, straightening up as quickly as possible.

She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Most other students were too preoccupied with their own potions, as they neared completion. However, Hermione caught Sirius Black staring unabashedly, watching her curiously. He met her eyes and waggled his eyebrows at her, but Hermione turned her back on him. She tapped her wand over the potion and cast a Cheering Charm.

Her entire table jumped as Hermione's cauldron turned bright yellow. A small, vibrant rainbow spread up from one side to the other in an arch, and the other girls _ooh_ ed and _aaah_ ed.

"Well done, Miss Dagworth-Granger," Professor Slughorn praised, looking at her admirably. "I do hope you'll join this little organization I put together..."

Hermione tried not to appear exasperated or amused as Slughorn invited her to join his Slug Club. She told she would have to think about it, as the year had barely begun and she wanted to focus on her classes first.

Professor Slughorn had the rest of the students fill a flask with their potions and drink in turn. Hermione watched Sirius from the corner of her eye, as she couldn't remember him brewing much of anything. His potion was a dull khaki shade, but he didn't seem at all concerned.

Slughorn approached Hermione's table first. The girls had all brewed various yellow potions in the end, although Liz Tuttle's looked a bit more lime than lemon. She gagged as she downed her flask, although the potion took effect immediately, her coughs turning to giggles. Alice scrunched her nose before drinking, and Penny swallowed hers in one gulp as if hoping to avoid any unpleasantness. The professor praised Hermione for the inventive use of peppermint, and she noticed Snape scowling from the back of the room. _Oops_.

Of course, if he didn't want he using his suggestions, he shouldn't have written them all over his textbook and then allowed her to copy it. Honestly.

She took a sip of her potion and found it to be incredibly sweet, almost like honey. It was the best tasting potion she'd ever had. Hermione grinned at this realization, and she allowed herself the enjoyment even if she knew it was artificial.

She cheerfully watched Professor Slughorn examin James's potion. He had never recovered from his misstep earlier, so his concoction appeared rather blue. He belched loudly after drinking, and it was clear from his face that he had not tasted the sweet honey; Hermione giggled at his failed attempt. Remus fared much better, as did the two Hufflepuffs. The remaining Ravenclaws also passed, along with the table of Slytherins. Merula received five points from Slughorn for having the "prettiest potion" which seemed a load of hogwash, but Hermione was too giddy to properly care.

Snape, who had been horribly sour after Slughorn praised Hermione, looked quite odd with a giant smile on his face. Next to him, Sirius Black was staring warily.

Hermione's eyes grew wide but her gasp came out as more of a dreamy sigh due to the potion's effect. Sirius's potion looked perfectly yellow! How did that even happen? She wanted to question it further, but instead Hermione found herself deciding that Sirius Black had a rather nice smile, grinning broadly as Slughorn accepted his potion without question.

(Hermione knew he had done _something_ , but she was too chuffed with Remus Lupin's off-key singing to dwell on the matter).

* * *

.

* * *

It was the first weekend at Hogwarts, and after one exciting day of school, most students were ready to sit back and take it easy for two days. The Marauders were off practicing Quidditch, or at least they had appeared that way, leaving the Gryffindor common room shortly after breakfast with their broomsticks in tow. Alice and Marlene had gone to watch. Penny had quickly blushed and ducked out with the excuse of homework; Professor Slughorn had given them a three-foot-long essay on what effects they had experienced as a result of their elixirs yesterday, not to mention whatever Transfiguration assignment Hermione had missed. The others refused to tell her and argued that, as she had been otherwise occupied at the time, Hermione shouldn't have to turn in the assignment. Remus had almost given in, but the others had dragged him away before he could help.

With her roommates all off doing other things, Hermione headed straight for the one place she needed to visit most right now (but any time, really): the library.

She had spent the morning pouring over books about time and traveling, and everything in-between. She charmed her books to appear uninteresting to anyone who should look, although the few Ravenclaws nearby had yet to acknowledge her presence. She made sure to browse a multitude of sections, even grabbing a few books about the Ministry of Magic.

A few more people had hounded her before, during, and after dinner last night, wanting her to regale them with a tale of her heroic escape from the Aurors. She supposed she should be thankful it was only one-fourth of the student population, as they cycled through quickly and lost interest once Hermione sent them away empty-handed. Marlene was also good at chasing away people who would bother Hermione, and surprisingly, so were the Marauders. They seemed to be good friends with the seventh year girls, she noted.

Penny and Remus got along beautifully with their quiet and studious natures, although there was still something off about the blonde girl that Hermione couldn't place. She could tell Penny and Remus were good friends, but sometimes, Penny would turn away or excuse herself for no apparent reason. Hermione wondered if perhaps Penny had discovered Remus's lycanthropy, before remembering that Lupin's furry little problem didn't exist here in this world. She kept forgetting that not only was this timeline a past one, but an alternate one at that. Perhaps Penny was just in need of alone time, something Hermione understood only too well.

The others were very friendly towards one another, if not as close as Penny and Remus. Marlene was just as crazy about Quidditch talk as the boys, while Alice covered her ears in jest and Peter Pettigrew watched James's snitch tricks with awe. They had all convened upon the couches in front of the fire last night, the very ones Harry, Ron, and Hermione favored.

Sirius had _yet_ _again_ missed a Marauders' meeting, but Hermione had caught his wavy locks disappearing through the portrait hole just before curfew. She had rolled her eyes, trying to pay attention as Peter completely destroyed Alice's newly repaired chess set. Penny and Remus were tucked into the other end of one couch, comparing Transfiguration notes and tuning out the noise, though every so often they'd smile when Marlene offered up one of her glorious tips which proved to be made up completely on the spot and costing Alice another pawn. James sat next to Hermione, encouraging Peter on moves the smaller boy thought were risky. Hermione had tried to think about the book in her hands, the chess game, or how Jame's hand rested just above her left shoulder, invading her comfort zone. But all she could think of was Sirius Black cutting curfew to go on one of his many dates.

And just what had he been thinking in the storeroom that afternoon? If he thought Hermione was just another doxy, he was sorely mistaken. And something in his air and manner... something was definitely _off_. Hermione guessed she could be reading too much into things; after all, she had only been familiar with Sirius Black as a crumbling, shell of a man fresh out of Azkaban, or as Harry's rash but loving and protective godfather. She had never before met Sirius Black as hormonal teenager who hadn't grown up enough yet to join the Order. She had heard the stories, but perhaps she was still clinging to pieces of the man she had known before, expecting to see him in this playboy who skulked around in potions storerooms.

His interest in her would wane soon enough, just like everyone else. Hermione Dagworth-Granger was fascinating because she was new, not because she was beautiful. She wasn't ugly by any standards, even if Draco Malfoy had once proclaimed otherwise, but Hermione wouldn't think to compare herself to Lavender or Parvati or Marlene McKinnon. Once the students here realized how boring and bookish she was, they'd leave her alone. They always did.

And here, Hermione would be grateful for it. She couldn't exactly stalk the bookshelves if she had to worry about Sirius Black's flirtatious advances. Getting home was at the top of her to-do list, not getting a boyfriend.

The daylight had faded into an orange sunset behind the mountains when Hermione decided to take a break from her research. So far, she hadn't found too much on time travel. The books she had read back in her third year about the Time Turners did not exist here, and possibly the Time Turners themselves had never been invented. On several occasions she had been distracted by trivial matters, places and people who had not existed before and so she had researched further on them. She'd spent a good hour reading about Polly Coombe, the first known person to have seen a Heliopath. Hermione could imagine Luna's cool, smug face at Hermione's own gobsmacked expression. Her mood dampened and Hermione swore never to make fun of Luna Lovegood's ramblings again, if only she could go home.

Hermione replaced all of the books carefully before heading down for dinner. She had missed lunch, being too engrossed in the writings of Maximus Harthshore and his beliefs on time and magic, so she was considerably hungry. It was still a bit early though; they wouldn't serve dinner for another half hour or so. She decided to stroll about the grounds to pass the time.

The Hogwarts landscape was more or less the same, to Hermione's relief. She couldn't bare to think how much worse off she would be if Hogwarts had been different. The similarities comforted her, even lulling her into a false sense of home at times. Other times, however, the subtle things made her brain itch.

The Whomping Willow was missing from its spot on the eastern hill. It wasn't a very dramatic change in scenery, but if one was looking for it, and Hermione _was_ , the lack of the large tree made quite the difference indeed. However, that vicious tree was the mark of Lupin's werewolf, and neither it nor the willow had a place here. Hermione's eyes were then drawn to Hagrid's Hut at the edge of the forest. She perked up at the very sight, and Hermione thought she would very much like to see him. But as she headed in that direction, something else caught her attention.

Plenty of students were outside, gathered upon hillsides or bunching together around the lake. Hermione's attention floated past them, coming to rest on a large, shady tree nestled by the school wall. A lone boy was lounging underneath it, his body turned away from Hermione out towards the lake. Even from far away, she could recognize Sirius's perfect hair blowing in the breeze.

As she drew closer, Hermione saw that he was lying against the base of the tree, one arm behind his head. The other held a piece of parchment in front of his face as he read. His bag had been dropped lazily on the ground, his robes stuffed haphazardly inside. Her footsteps were quiet and hidden beneath the chatter of the other students, so she was close enough to read the first sentence of what appeared to be a letter, before Sirius realized he was no longer alone.

 _My Dearest Cousin,_

Sirius Black rolled the letter up and away, standing and brushing his dark green sweater off, all in one fluid motion. Hermione stepped back, startled and embarrassed to be caught snooping.

He bowed gracefully and dramatically. "And to what do I owe this _fine_ pleasure, Miss Dagworth-Granger?"

"I..." She faltered. Sirius was highly amused and _that_ bothered her. "I was just out. Walking."

He took a step forward. "So you were."

"It's a nice day for walking," she explained easily, retreating.

"So it is." Sirius smiled and stepped forward again, causing Hermione to step back.

Just what was it with him and the lack of personal boundaries?

"Black," she warned, stepping back even further.

His grin was wolfish. " _Hermione_."

She crossed her arms and refused to move back any farther; this was ridiculous. She could stand her ground against Sirius Black of all people. Even so, the wand tucked inside her sweater pressed against her shirt tightly. "Well, we've established my doings. Just what were you up to?"

Sirius paused, so close that their feet were almost touching. "Just a bit of reading." He smirked. "It's a nice day for reading."

Hermione couldn't help but smile back, after having spent all day in the library herself. "So it is."

He continued to smile and leaned in close. Hermione reflexively stepped back yet again, bumping against a corner of the castle. Sirius stretched his arms out comfortably, resting his hands along the stone wall on either side of her.

Hermione's smile dropped as her posture became tense. "I don't know what you think you're doing, Black, but it isn't going to work."

"I think it's working already," he whispered, pressing up against her.

She was not in a panic yet; Voldemort would give her a fright before some lusting seventeen-year-old. But Hermione's patience had worn out, and she wasn't about to become Sirius Black's next conquest. Her wand was trapped beneath Sirius's body that smothered her own, but she was not without options.

Hermione's knee jerked up and smashed straight into his groin. Sirius was off of her instantly, howling loud enough for the entire grounds to hear. She had her wand out and ready, pointing at the boy on the ground.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again!" she seethed. The nerve of him...! Invading her personal space when she was clearly uncomfortable, like some sort of animal! Sirius clutched himself protectively as he hobbled to his feet, drawing his own wand.

" _What_ is going here!?"

They both glanced over to see that a sizable crowd had gathered, likely from all of the yelping Sirius had made. At the front of the group stood a furious redhead, and Hermione was briefly reminded of Lily. Briefly, because aside from her hair, the girl turned out to be nothing like Harry's late mother.

"Fighting already, new girl?" she sneered, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. She didn't even look at Sirius, who was leaning against the tree for support. "Just because the Headmaster pulled some strings to keep you safe doesn't mean you can prance around doing whatever you like."

There were several yells and the crowd parted to reveal the rest of the Marauders and Hermione's roommates, all save Penny. Acting according to his Head Boy duties, Remus assessed the situation quickly.

"Ah, Lupin," the girl drawled. "I should have known you'd come to the rescue of one of your cubs."

Apparently used to such jibes, Remus looked unimpressed as he eyed Sirius's hunched form. "Only because you refuse to be impartial, Selwyn."

 _Selwyn... Selwyn..._ Snape had mentioned that name, hadn't he? Head Girl Selwyn! The seventh year girl had long red hair, not quite as dark as Lily's, but eerily similar. Her Head Girl badge was pinned proudly next to the Slytherin emblem on her robes. She was very pretty, but in a natural way, not wearing layers of cosmetics like Merula Snyde, who happened to be standing just a foot away. Selwyn was tall for a girl, but Remus Lupin was taller still. They stared each other down for a moment before Sirius interrupted with another whimper.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Selwyn announced.

"What for?" James demanded brashly, trying to shove past Remus with his broom tossed over his shoulder like a weapon. Only Peter and Marlene managed to hold him back.

Selwyn narrowed her eyes at the Gryffindor. "For attacking another student, _obviously_."

"I'm sure Hermione didn't do it without reason," Marlene barked. Her other housemates agreed loudly. They all looked to Hermione for the answer, but she was slightly embarrassed to admit that she had kicked Sirius because he'd been flirting with her. She hadn't exactly told him directly to _back off_ , rather, her anger had gotten the best of her and she had made him back off by force. Her explanation was going to sound silly and without merit.

Sirius wasn't offering any explanation himself, though Hermione suspected he would rather not admit to being kneed in the groin by a girl.

Alice sighed. "Let me guess, Black tried to woo her into submission and got more than he bargained for." She looked to Hermione, who blushed in confirmation.

Marlene leaned over James's shoulder smugly. "Black doesn't take no for an answer. He's pretty persistent. But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Rose?"

Rose Selwyn's cheeks darkened, but she refused to comment. Remus ran a hand through his hair and looked troubled. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I'll have to agree fighting is never a good idea, and the points are lost."

She nodded in acceptance. She had lost more points for worse things, and honestly, she wasn't too concerned with a House Cup that couldn't really belong to her. Strangely, she had always felt a bit guilty whenever she broke the rules, but now she found she didn't really care. Harry and Ron must have been steadily chipping away at that part of her for years.

Remus turned to Sirius Black, who had finally recovered and was trying to gather his possessions and sneak away. "And _you_!"

Sirius swiveled on his heel, rolled his eyes, and flashed a friendly smile at the other boy, no doubt waiting for the Marauders to berate and comfort him from the confines of their dormitory. He'd probably heard it all before, after other failed attempts at scoring dates. Hermione should have just stayed inside, honestly, because this was all an unnecessary fuss.

"Ten points from Slytherin for provoking her."

Most of the crowd dispersed, the violence over and punishment doled out. Alice stuck her nose in air justly, and James nodded with a firm jaw as if this settled the matter. Sirius threw Rose Selwyn a look.

"You're just going to let that go?" he asked, looking like a hurt puppy.

The girl arched an eyebrow. "After everything you did to me, _you're_ asking _me_ for favors?"

He smirked and leered. "You never hesitated before."

The redhead was furious. " _You pig!_ I should let him dock a hundred points for your swinish behavior! If you weren't in my House, I'd give you detentions with Professor McGonagall for the rest of the year!"

Only the Marauders, her roommates, Rose Selwyn, and a handful of Slytherin seventh years remained, watching the two trade insults. Hermione had stopped paying attention though.

 _'Ten points from_ Slytherin _for provoking her...'_

 _'If you weren't in_ my _House...'_

Slytherin... _Slytherin!?_

"You're a Slytherin!?" she blurted loudly, staring at Sirius Black in total confusion.

He turned away from the Head Girl, happy to answer the question, and smoothed his gorgeous hair back into place. "Of course. The Black family prides itself on our Slytherin heritage. We have always held a prestigious spot in the House of Salazar."

Hermione gaped at him wildly. "But... but you're a _Gryffindor_!"

The other Slytherins jeered and mocked him, but Sirius's face glowered.

"Don't you _ever_ associate me as belonging to _your_ House," he growled, straightening out his green sweater.

Green for _Slytherin_ , she realized.

"Those belonging to the esteemed Black legacy would _never_ be anywhere else," Sirius informed her icily.

"But I saw you in the common room," she argued desperately, panic beginning to rise. "I saw you last night!"

James let out a howl of laughter, followed closely by Peter. The two roared uncontrollably and slapped their knees, oblivious to the looks of pure rage that the Slytherins were now sending their way, Sirius included.

Sirius Black would have never looked at James Potter like that. It was wrong. _Wrong wrong wrong._

"Merlin's pants, Black," James snickered, "after all these years of little Regulus getting hit on by girls from behind, thinking he was you..."

Peter doubled over with laughter again. "Someone finally confused _you_ for _Regulus_!"

Sirius Black had his wand up again instantly, inches from Peter's throat. Remus hurried to drag Peter out of the way, while Alice and Marlene tried to stop James's continuous snorting. The Slytherins had grown still and oddly silent. A large boy placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder in warning, and Rose glanced back and forth uneasily, not willing to berate someone of her own House but clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Don't ever compare me to that vermin again!" spat Sirius dangerously, still pointing his wand at Peter. "No brother of mine is a Gryffindor. _I have no brother._ "

Hermione still gaped widely at him, trying to wrap her head around everything she had just heard. It couldn't be true! It just couldn't! Sirius would die before conforming to the prejudice values of the Black family. Slytherin House, following his parents' footsteps... it was Sirius Black's worst nightmare. He had run away from home just to avoid it! She had always loved that about Sirius. She had admired his Gryffindor spirit, surviving in a house such as that, defying his parents and decorating his room with red and gold. Was his room now green and silver? That burning courage she had seen every time Sirius flew into battle, desperate to protect Harry at all costs, and now here he was, spitting nonsense about belonging to the very House he so detested. Hermione felt nauseous. Sirius's words continued to bounce around her head. And...

Regulus Black... _was a Gryffindor?_

* * *

.

* * *

 _-this chapter has not been thoroughly combed for typos so my apologies to early readers! (I checked it but it usually takes 6 reads for me to catch everything)_

 _Well, first things first, Happy New Year, everyone! I'm very sorry for the delay but I was terribly busy over the holidays and all through January, so it didn't leave much time for writing. And I want to thank all of you who left reviews or who are watching!_

 _As for the chapter itself... thoughts? Most of this chapter was planned back even in the early stages before I had decided how it would end. I hope no one is too upset over Sirius here. He's not completely evil or anything. But in a parallel world, what if he had grown up to be the son his parents always wanted?_

 _About the other characters... Merula, Liz, Penny etc. I don't like inventing a bunch of OCs for stories. I much prefer to pull from the original material. However, there aren't many students mentioned from the Marauders' year, especially with the loss of Mary and Lily, Dirk and so on. So these fill-in characters were borrowed from the game 'Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery'. Most will be backfill characters, and Hermione will not meet all of them, nor does every House have 10 students in each year. I don't think you'd have a perfect number of 40 wizard babies being born each year, especially here with a lack of Muggleborns. Anyway, these characters are all pulled from Hogwarts Mystery, and I ran with whatever info I could find on them._

 _Except Rose Selwyn. She's mine. I accidentally invented her in the first chapter before I started pulling from Hogwarts Mystery. I could have gone back and changed it, but I decided not to... And personally I couldn't stand to make Merula or Ismelda the Head Girl haha. Rose and Sirius have some history hinted at here, which will be disclosed in later chapters._

 _Maybe we'll finally meet Regulus next chapter?_


	5. Boggarts and Blood-Theft

.

* * *

 **If It Had Happened Otherwise**

* * *

.

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

 _"She allowed herself to dwell on the cause of this strange, apprehensive exultation that she sensed flickering at the edge of her mind: it was the rarest thing of all – a man whom she knew at once, and without any qualification, to be her equal."  
_ -Philip Pullman

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

She could feel Sirius Black watching her all through dinner.

She should have just stayed in the library for that extra thirty minutes, and then Hermione could have avoided the conspicuous confrontation with the young man. _Not that it would have changed anything,_ she thought bitterly. It was only a matter of time before she realized Sirius Black was _not_ a member of Gryffindor House.

A fact that couldn't be farther from the truth.

This entire place had felt wrong from the moment she passed through Platform Nine and One Half. When presented with the differences, Hermione had assumed the most profound would have to be Voldemort as Minister or Muggles stealing magic (something she still refused to believe was possible; it was most likely poppycock cooked up by Voldemort). But her entire world had just been thrown off-kilter when Sirius Black had proudly, _smugly_ informed her that he was a Slytherin.

Her eyes were glazed with unshed tears, but Hermione kept it together. She couldn't very well burst out crying during dinner, surrounded by her new classmates. They would be supportive, of course, but they would certainly be curious, too, and the less people who were curious of Hermione Dagworth-Granger, the better. She had already slipped up with her fight against Sirius earlier, not to mention the attention she'd received after the Ministry's interrogation. However, it was very hard not to fall apart, when Sirius Black, the man who had fought beside her once, was trying to curse her with his glare. If looks could kill.

After the day's events, James and Marlene had ranted during most of the meal about the misdeeds of Sirius Orion Black. Unlike Merula and her constant gang of Slytherins, Sirius was more of a lone hound. He was familiar with his fellow house mates, but they didn't follow him around everywhere. He was closest with a brawny boy named Barnaby Lee, as they were both Beaters on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Sirius absolutely hated his fellow Slytherin Severus Snape with an unrivaled passion; according to James, the two boys had been enemies since their first day on the train. Snape was the unfortunate recipient of most of these misdeeds, several of which Hermione was familiar with... cursing his belongings, pantsing him out by the lake, calling him _Snivellus_. It all sounded very similar to the Sirius _she_ knew.

But it wasn't. Not really.

 _Her_ Sirius never would have been sorted into Slytherin. He never would have boasted about his family legacy. He never would have accosted her in such a manner; even if he was a playboy, she couldn't have imagined her Sirius taking it that far. Her Sirius Black was many things... brave, loyal, loving, but also flawed, tempestuous, arrogant, mischievous. However, he was nothing similar to the young man still blazing at her from across the Great Hall.

Hermione quickly excused herself from the table, her plate barely touched. Her friends protested, and Alice and Remus both wore worried frowns, far too perceptive for their own good, but she had to get away for a bit. Sirius's eyes followed her as she left, but he did not go after her. Making her way up the stairs, Hermione thought of going to the library again, but she figured it would be impossible to focus on any reading right now. She headed for Gryffindor Tower, knowing her dorm would be empty at the moment, although... not for long; dinner was almost over and people would return to their dormitories soon. "Pumpernickel," she said to the Thin Lady, pondering where to go to avoid her roommates. She needed time to think without interruption. She needed a place where no one else would bother her...

The idea struck her just as the portrait swung open.

Hermione's body froze, all except for her eyes which grew wider by the second. She must have looked comically ridiculous like that, her hand paused in midair from the excitement of the idea she'd had, her mouth slightly open to let out an _aha!_ of solution to her predicament, and her eyes bulging with surprise as she took in the person before her, having almost crashed right into him.

She supposed it wouldn't have been the first time, as she realized _this_ was the same person whom she had bowled over during her mad dash up the staircase to Dumbledore's office the other day. She hadn't given him a second thought then.

Now, all of her thoughts were drawn together, her brain buzzing with nothing else, full of only one thing.

Regulus Black.

She continued to gape at him, her mouth opening farther as if to say something, though no words came to mind. He stared down at her from the entrance hole with a blank expression, although when she didn't immediately move out of the way, one of his eyebrows rose.

Hermione had seen Regulus Black before, in the Slytherin Quidditch photograph that Harry had pointed out. Of course at the time, she hadn't paid it much attention and had instead devoted herself to hunting for the locket or anything of greater interest. His looks had hardly been of relevance then.

He was in her personal space now, however, and it was hard _not_ to notice his physical appearance. He held himself highly, reminding her of Sirius. Pressed lips joined his raised eyebrow, making him appear rather haughty, although his gaze lacked any sort of menace, a far cry from the other Black boy she had left in the dining hall. Hermione was drawn firstly to those dark brown eyes, so different from Sirius's striking gray ones. His face was longer and thinner than his brother's, thought not without those familiar high cheekbones, and she suspected that he was smaller than Sirius in height and frame, too. But his hair... His hair fell in perfect waves just like his brother's; it was no wonder she had mistaken him for Sirius last night. He had a large nose, full lips, and was less of a classic tall-dark-and-handsome than Sirius, too.

 _But not by much_ , was her next thought.

Regulus, surely not as interested in studying her features as she was his, stared down at her, unimpressed. "Do I have dirt on my nose? Or is there some other reason you have yet to move and have chosen instead to gawk like a gulping plimpy?"

His nose was free of dirt, although she did notice a faded scar running across the bridge of his otherwise blemish-free skin. Hermione quickly shut her mouth, not wanting to look like a gulping plimpy. Luna had never mentioned any such physical aspects of the fish, but seeing as it was one of the girl's made-up creatures, it surely had to look as ridiculous as it sounded. And, honestly, hearing the phrase 'gulping plimpy' fall from Regulus Black's mouth, appearing all serious as he did, almost caused her to break into laughter.

However, Hermione chose not to answer him. She gave into his request, spinning on the toe of her shoe and fleeing in the direction from which she had come.

James had mentioned something about girls hitting on Regulus, thinking he was Sirius. Hermione wondered how many of them had fled in the opposite direction once they'd realized their mistake. Perhaps he would think the same of her. Of course, he might have heard of her altercation with his brother, so perhaps he knew that she was unlikely to hit on neither him nor Sirius only an hour later. Hermione could only speculate what other excuses he'd entertain based on her actions.

But she hadn't had any choice, really. She had escaped dinner to get away from all sights and sounds of Sirius Black, only to be confronted with someone who looked eerily like him. Hermione needed to get away as fast as her legs would carry her. She hadn't planned on entering the common room anyway, not after her brilliant idea.

What better place to go when she didn't want to be found, than a place where no one could follow?

Hermione couldn't chance that Regulus hadn't followed her, or that no one else would notice her hasty exit from Gryffindor Tower. She did not head straight for the wall opposite the large tapestry but took a detour into the North Wing. The large study area was thankfully empty, as most students were only just now heading back from dinner. Waving her wand about, Hermione cast a Disilluisonment Charm upon herself, her body blending in with the tables and bookshelves scattered throughout the room.

She had no idea if anyone here knew of the Room of Requirement, or for that matter, if the room even existed here at all, but she certainly did not want anyone to catch her in the act of finding it.

The toes of her shoes had only just disappeared as the door swung open, having barely closed less than a minute ago.

Regulus Black's face peered into the room, his eyes sweeping directly over Hermione and about the room. _Had he actually followed her?_ She carefully backed away as Regulus entered the study, gazing around curiously. He bit his lip, clearly unsatisfied that his prey managed to escape. Hermione inched towards the open door, watching him carefully. He had definitely followed her here, but why? She hadn't done much to warrant his attention; she had effectively removed herself from his space rather quickly. He pulled out his wand, and she hurriedly squeezed past the open door as Regulus uttered a " _Homenum Revelio_."

 _What the bloody hell had all that been about!?_ Once she had tiptoed a safe distance away, Hermione bolted down the hallways back towards the tapestry. Not only was Regulus nosy enough to follow her, but he was suspicious too! Any normal person would have assumed Hermione had exited out the side door. And yet he had hastily decided she must have concealed herself somehow. That had been close, too close.

Relaxing at the familiar sight of Barnaby and the trolls, Hermione strode determinedly in front of the wall opposite the tapestry.

 _I need a place to think where no one will interrupt me..._

 _I need a place to think where no one will interrupt me..._

 _I need to place to think where no one will interrupt me..._

She held her breath, waiting.

An awfully long amount of time seemed to pass before lines began spiraling across the stone wall, weaving and intertwining to become a rather decorated red door with gold hinges. Hermione let out a breath of relief and grasped the ornate handle, and then recalling Regulus tailing her, she hastily opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door immediately.

Red curtains with gold trim hung from every wall. There was a large fireplace with roaring flames, and many squishy red armchairs and couches surrounded it. Desks were crammed into various corners.

Hermione was in the Gryffindor common room.

And yet... it was more than that. This feeling... she was overcome with longing at the sight of _her_ common room. It looked exactly the same as the one awaiting back in _this_ castle, but she could tell it was different. It was _hers_. She didn't have any real explanation of how she knew; she just... _knew_.

She collapsed onto the couch that had always been her favorite. The one she would curl into, Crookshanks on her lap and a book in her hands. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear Harry and Ron arguing over their unfinished homework.

Harry... Ron... what had happened after she left King's Cross and arrived here? Had they subdued Voldemort's supporters? Were they injured? Had Ron passed through the barrier behind her and ended up somewhere else? Were they even aware that Hermione was gone? Perhaps time ran differently here, and whenever and however she managed to return home, it would still be September 1st and they would still be dueling.

Or, were they out looking for her? Had they assumed she died? No, definitely not, Hermione concluded. Harry would never accept that idea; she hadn't left behind a body. Unless...? Hermione considered for all of two seconds that perhaps she had died and that this was the afterlife. Then she scoffed and muttered "nonsense" under her breath. She refused to accept an afterlife where Sirius Black was a Slytherin.

Her eyes watered again. Sirius Black was a Slytherin, a Pureblood bigot who resented his brother for being sorted into a different House. How had this happened? Something must have been different during this Sirius's childhood, certainly. Hermione tried to imagine growing up in a world where she was told that Muggles could steal magic. But, her Sirius had been born into the same nasty Black family as this one, and he'd turned out all right. Hermione bit her lip. She supposed there was nothing to be done about it; she would just have to remind herself that this Sirius wasn't _really_ Harry's godfather. Although, if he kept staring at her like he wanted to kill her, she surmised it would be fairly easy.

Hermione dug through her beaded bag, groping around for her photo album. Not the one of Harry's family, but her own, personal photo album. She turned the pages carefully, immersing herself into the captured moments. A tear fell and landed on a photo of her and Ginny. She was supposed to be at school with Ginny, her best female friend. Alice, Marlene, and Penny were very nice, but no one could compare to the spitfire ginger that was Ginny Weasley.

She turned the pages, staring longingly at the photos of her past. She traced a finger around the edge of a childhood Christmas picture. The occupants were still, but the smiles of her parents made Hermione's chest ache. She hadn't spoken to them since returning their memories. Her last moments with them were a huge fight. Hermione sniffed; she wanted to return home so badly.

She snapped the book shut and dried her eyes. _Pull yourself together_ , she berated. _Crying won't solve anything._ Hermione tucked her photo album away and stood from the couch. She needed to be doing something productive. She fingered her bag again, wondering if she should research some of the dark magic books in there. Yes, but not right now. Right now, she needed to get back to her other common room before anyone worried.

"Thank you," she whispered, unsure if the Room of Requirement could hear her or not. Either way, she was grateful for the room it had chosen; she felt much better.

She Disillusioned herself once more before carefully exiting the room.

Hermione went back to the North Wing, and after checking thoroughly that neither Regulus Black nor anyone else were in the closed room, she canceled the charm and exited through the main door, heading back towards the Thin Lady's portrait.

"Hermione!"

Alice was upon her as soon as she had entered the common room. The girl dragged Hermione over to a couch where Penny was sitting. "Where have you been? We were so worried! You left dinner early and Marlene was raving about Sirius Black leaving right after you, likely trying to curse you–"

" _We were worried_?" Penny cut in, looking up from her homework. "I think you mean you and Marlene." She smiled at Hermione. "I knew you were fine. If you can handle a few Aurors, you can certainly handle Black."

Hermione returned the grin. "Yes, I think I can take care of myself. But," she said, turning to Alice, "thanks for the concern. Where's Marlene?"

Alice snorted and dropped onto the couch next to Penny, while Hermione settled herself into an armchair. "That ninny dragged Peter and James out to search the castle for you. She was all fired up about Black and convinced the boys he'd done something terrible to you. I was worried too, but not about that toerag; I... well, Hermione, if you ever need to talk about anything, we're here for you." Alice patted her arm gently and so warmly that Hermione knew she was being genuine.

"Thank you," she replied, hoping the girls knew she meant it. "But don't worry, Sirius Black didn't follow me."

 _Regulus Black did._

"So where were you?" Alice asked again, pulling a magazine about fungi out of her bag.

Hermione shrugged. "I just needed some fresh air. I took a walk around the castle."

The other girls seemed to accept this answer. After several minutes of begging, Hermione convinced them to relay the Transfiguration assignment, and she pulled out some parchment and got to work. A familiar rhythm set in of scratching quills, and with the other two nearby, it almost felt as if she were doing homework with Harry and Ron. Hermione had gone through half a roll of parchment before remembering to pull out her textbook, and not just for appearances. She already knew a lot on Conjuring Spells, but she had better check if her knowledge held water _here_. Hermione was fleshing out the details describing the Principle of Artificianimate Quasi-Dominance, brows furrowed in concentration, when she finally noticed it had grown quiet, too quiet without the scribbling of two other quills. She glanced over to Alice and Penny, only to find them, writing tools forgotten in their hands, staring at something just above Hermione's head. Alice's eyes had slightly narrowed, and Penny was biting her lip.

Pausing in her own writing, Hermione craned her neck to see who or what was behind her that had captivated her friends' attention.

Had she been charmed to attract the attention of the ancient House of Black? Hermione held back a groan as she caught sight of Regulus Black, _yet again_. What was with this family? First Bellatrix, then Sirius, and now him. Couldn't they just leave her alone?

Regulus had quirked a brow at the stares her companions had been sending him, but his eyes slid to Hermione once she turned around. He kept his face blank, his motive hard to read. He leaned slightly in over the back of her chair, and Hermione was drawn again to the long scar running across his nose, starting at his left eye and stretching across to his right cheek. It wasn't terribly noticeable, and certainly not fresh, but she knew the Regulus from before, the one who had died trying to stop Voldemort, that Regulus had been Walburga Black's prized son. His face wouldn't have been marred.

Growing tired of his unrelenting gaze, Hermione spoke. "Do I have dirt on my nose? Or is there some other reason you're just staring at me?"

Regulus's lips pulled together tightly. If he was annoyed by her words, he should have thought of that before throwing them at her earlier. His jaw clenched a few times, reminding Hermione of Harry whenever he would struggle to convey his thoughts.

"Stay away from my brother," he said lowly. It came out as a growled threat.

Not one to be bossed around, Hermione crossed her arms. She already planned to stay far away from young Sirius, but she didn't appreciate Regulus's tone at all. "Or what?" she bit back, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Regulus glared, unhappy with her response. His nostrils flared, and he breathed in, preparing to speak–

"Oh thank Merlin you're here!"

Marlene had returned to the common room, James and Peter in tow. She quickly approached Hermione, relieved to find her new friend had not been cursed by an angry Sirius Black. Then she noticed Regulus and the tense atmosphere surrounding him. "Am I interrupting something?"

Regulus's face contorted, as if swallowing a scoff. He turned on his heel and stalked away towards the boy's dormitories.

"What was that all about?" asked James, watching Regulus's dark form retreat up the stairs.

By this point, Hermione was exhausted from all of her interactions with the Black family. "Who knows. Whatever it was, I don't really care."

"It was definitely odd, though," Alice mused, scooting over to make room for Marlene. James and Peter sat on the floor, or in Peter's case, lied down, as he was slightly still out of breath after all his running around. "Regulus doesn't really socialize... not even with his roommates."

"He's a Prefect, so I've been on a few patrols with him," added Penny, setting her homework aside for the moment. "He's very quiet, doesn't seem to have many friends, but his grades are immaculate."

"He's a Black," James stated loudly, shrugging when they looked at him. "I'm just speaking the truth. Everyone expected him to be in Slytherin like his brother. Then he ends up a Gryffindor and no one really knows how to handle it. The Slytherins hate him for his betrayal, the Gryffindors are suspicious because of his aloof personality and infamous family history. And his family surely wasn't welcoming of it."

Hermione could only imagine all too well Walburga Black screaming obscenities at an eleven-year-old Regulus returning home for the Christmas holidays his first year. He had probably been treated similarly to her Sirius, and she wondered if the Blacks had disowned him, too.

None of that, however, explained why he had tracked her from the portrait hole to the North Wing earlier. Regulus clearly found her suspicious, but why? Whatever his reasons, Hermione would have to be extra careful in her movements from now on. Regulus had proven himself to be someone she could not afford to underestimate.

* * *

.

* * *

Classes were practically the same, and then they weren't.

Hermione had each subject twice a week, usually with one subject in the morning and a different one in the afternoon. The first lesson of the week in each class was generally used for reading and learning, with the second being a practical application. Sometimes they were thrown right in, usually by Professors Slughorn or McGonagall, but more often than not, the first lesson of the week was spent reading. Hermione loved reading, but spending an entire class period doing so grew boring after a while, especially if it was a topic she already knew. She found that much of the seventh year curriculum included things she had previously learned in her own sixth year, as if the entire school was a year behind.

But then other times, her lessons focused on things that she had never heard of, or if she had, seemed out of place altogether.

The first week of Charms was spent learning how to properly cast a Knitting Charm, something she had mastered during her fourth year. However, once the majority of the class could handle the basic knitting spell, Professor Flitwick had them engage in a friendly competition to see who could knit the best. Points were awarded based on speed, precision, use of various designs and techniques, among other aspects. Hermione knitted a large blanket that earned her second place and ten House points.

"Amazing, Miss Dagworth-Granger! To have knitted such an intricate deer pattern with these time constraints... even magically!" Flitwick praised. Hermione smiled but it was very hard to keep a straight face when thoughts of Harry Potter and his stag Patronus kept flooding her mind. She carefully folded up the blanket, stroking the soft fabric gently and wishing more than anything she could return home.

She didn't catch James Potter staring at her curiously.

Transfiguration was by far the most magically challenging of her subjects. Professor McGonagall was as strict as ever. She had been highly suspicious of the new student and her ability to handle the NEWT curriculum, until Hermione had performed several conjuring spells perfectly, one of which the class had yet to learn. This led to many either jealous or admiring stares for the rest of the class. Though even if she already had knowledge of certain spells, new Transfiguration was still difficult, even if it only involved transforming Cauldron Cakes to cabbages.

However, for as complicated as Transfiguration itself was, Hermione's most _trying_ class had to be Defense Against the Dark Arts. It had always been one of her lesser subjects, but on top of that, she happened to be classmates with none other than Regulus Black.

Regulus was a year younger, but he was already in seventh-year classes; Penny had mentioned his immaculate grades, but Regulus was also brilliant enough to have tested out of his year in three subjects. This annoyed her, as Hermione herself had never been offered the opportunity to move ahead. Aside from Defense, she didn't know what other classes he had been deemed talented in, but they must be electives because he was only in the one with her, and thank goodness. Hermione frequently got the feeling he was watching her. He sat several rows behind her, next to Sirius, and after a handful of discreet glances, Hermione figured out he must be here for Sirius's benefit in addition his own. All of his notes were duplicated and given to Sirius. For his part, Sirius had stopped glaring at her; she would sometimes catch him staring at her thoughtfully, and he would smirk in response, but mostly, he had left her alone. Regulus, on the other hand, seemed to stare at her so frequently it was beginning to get on her nerves. She could only conclude he was still upset about things between her and Sirius, though only Merlin knew _why_. The brothers sat next to each other in Defense class, but the two Black boys looked as though they'd prefer to be anywhere else. Her suspicions were confirmed one day in mid September, when she overheard Sirius harassing his younger brother for test answers.

"Mum put you in here to help me, remember?" Sirius was saying, his arms crossed as he stood over Regulus's desk.

"Yes, exactly, to _help_ you. Not to cheat for you."

"Same thing. Remember, if I fail, _you're_ the one who will be in for it when we get home."

Hermione thought she heard Regulus mutter 'when am I not', but she was forced to whip her head back around front when he suddenly looked in her direction.

Patricia Rakepick was the professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. She was fairly young for a Hogwarts teacher, in her late thirties or early forties. She had once been an Auror, but only for a few years before being injured on the job and retiring to teach. She had a grotesque scar on her left leg, which she often showed off to her students to warn them of the dangers of the Dark Arts; she claimed the scar was caused by a Muggle trying to perform Blood-Theft.

Another reason Hermione found herself disliking the class.

Professor Rakepick spent the entire first two weeks focusing on Blood-Theft alone, and Hermione had a hunch _she_ was the cause of this. The professor often looked down upon her with disdain, unsatisfied with the Ministry's decision to allow Hermione to remain at Hogwarts. Although Rakepick could be condescending, the woman was nowhere near Professor Snape's level, so Hermione held her tongue during these vexing moments. Rakepick didn't pick on Hermione solely, however; she seemed to dislike most of the student body.

"Everybody up," the professor barked, bursting into the room and startling half the class. An enchanted trunk floated ominously after her. Hermione eyed it warily.

As soon as all of the students were on their feet, Rakepick flicked her wand and sent the desks sliding to the back of the classroom against the door. With the main exit blocked, Hermione eyed the only other door in the room, the one connected to Rakepick's office. Always best to be prepared.

"If you recall," the professor said, her voice leaving no room for divided attention, "we briefly touched upon non-beings at the end of last year."

Hermione's wariness considerably increased.

"Several of you were disappointed at the lack of a practical lesson. Fear not, that lesson is today..." Rakepick flashed a wolfish smile. "Or perhaps, you will be very afraid indeed."

As if for emphasis, the floating trunk jerked wildly.

"Ah, Professor...?" One of the Hufflepuff girls was inching behind her friends. "What exactly is in there?"

Rakepick's grin spread. "Why don't we find out?"

Honestly, this woman was a horrible teacher. Hermione was appalled. She wasn't even going to prepare her students before unleashing what was surely a boggart upon them? No warning of the creature inside, nor had she offered to teach them the defensive counter spell... which was the entire purpose of this class!

"Lobosca, you're up first!" the professor snapped, stepping to the side as the large trunk moved to the front center. The rest of the class stepped back, putting a wide berth between themselves and the trunk. The nervous Hufflepuff girl, presumably Lobosca, shakily walked towards the luggage.

"You got this, Chiara!" another Hufflepuff cheered, the rest clapping in agreement. Chiara Lobosca smiled briefly, but then Professor Rakepick pointed her wand and the latch on the trunk snapped open.

A wolf, gigantic in size, leapt from the trunk and began to bare its teeth at the frightened girl. The animal was far bigger than any normal wolf, almost as large as Professor Lupin had been when transformed. If Hermione hadn't already suspected the boggart, she might be a little scared, too.

"Are you sure that's a non-being?" one of the Slytherin boys sniffed doubtfully, though Hermione could hear the edge in his tone.

Meanwhile, the Hufflepuff girl had yelped at the sight of the wolf, tripping over her feet in haste to get away from it. She cast a poorly aimed " _Stupify!_ " that did absolutely nothing.

"Clearly, Miss Lobosca has forgotten what we learned last year," Rakepick drawled. "Who actually paid attention in class?"

Hermione, of course, knew the answer. However, she did not want to draw any further attention to herself in this class. She did not want Professor Rakepick sending her to face the boggart next.

She had a number of fears, and she wasn't sure which one the boggart would select. She knew a variety of questions would arise if Bellatrix, in particular, were to appear in the classroom.

"Non-beings are often thought to be similar to ghosts," a Ravenclaw answered. Hermione recognized him as the tall boy whose eyebrows had been burned off during their first Potions lesson. "However, a non-being was never a human; rather, they are created from human emotions and are amortal, meaning they cannot be destroyed."

"Correct, Mr. Kim. Can anyone tell me what non-being we are dealing with here?" She sighed as the students racked their brains for an answer. "No one? Yes... Mr. Black."

Hermione turned her head enough to see Regulus from the corner of her eye. He looked completely bored, though much less unpleasant since he had separated himself from Sirius once the desks were moved. He was standing close to the edge of the group, near the Ravenclaws, far away from his fellow Gryffindors.

"A boggart will shape-shift into whatever a person fears most," he answered, sounding as though he only spoke up because no one else had.

"And do you remember how to deal with a boggart?" Rakepick pressed.

Shrugging, Regulus strode to the front of the room where Chiara was still cowering. Once he was nearly at her side, the girl looked to him gratefully and ran off to the back of the room. Regulus slid into her place, frowning as the boggart began shift.

 _Crack!_

" _REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK, HOW_ _ **DARE**_ _YOU SHOW YOUR FACE IN THIS HOME, YOU_ _ **FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR**_ _, YOU HAVE_ _ **SHAMED**_ _THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS_ –"

The screeching of Walburga Black was familiar to Hermione's ears, but she still cringed alongside everyone else. Sirius alone was unaffected. Once they realized _who_ was shrieking, the other Slytherins began to laugh, but Sirius watched quietly, his arms crossed and gaze focused on Regulus. Having only ever seen the woman sitting in her portrait at Grimmauld Place, Hermione stared at Walburga's form as she continued to scream. The Black matriarch was much shorter than she'd pictured; Hermione had always imagined Sirius's mother as this towering, imposing figure. But seeing her now, shouting vulgarities as she glared up at her son, Hermione almost chuckled.

She quickly pretended to cough, her amusement having caught Marlene and Alice's attentions.

Regulus hadn't even flinched at the boggart's new form. He appeared unimpressed and unconcerned, before he waved his wand lazily. " _Riddikulus_."

The haughty woman and her screeching disappeared with a _crack_ , and everyone looked around confusedly before they noticed the frame on the floor. Hermione stood on her tiptoes to get a good look. Sure enough, there on the floor in front of Regulus, lay Walburga Black's portrait. It looked exactly the same as Hermione remembered, though there was one major difference: this portrait was completely still, Walburga's mouth shut and silent.

It was a Muggle portrait.

Many of the other students were confused ("A picture? Why did it change into that?"), but Sirius had recognized his brother's amusement and sneered in response.

Professor Rakepick cleared her throat to contain the chatter which had broken out across the room. "Unorthodox approach, but nonetheless effective," she announced, sounding disappointed at Regulus's quick victory. "You must force the boggart to assume a form you find amusing, while casting the spell _Riddikulus_. Lobosca, again."

Chiara returned to the front, with more bravery than before now that she knew the wolf wasn't real. Regulus slinked to the back of the room, this time standing near his housemates, if only to be on the opposite side of the classroom from Sirius. Beside Hermione, Penny was muttering under her breath nervously. Alice bit her lip, and even the usually cheerful Marlene appeared deep in thought. Hermione glanced towards the boys, curious to see what Remus's boggart turned into this time.

With a nervous stutter, Chiara cast " _Riddikulus!_ " and the boggart _cracked_ and shifted into a stuffed wolf toy. She smiled gleefully, but Professor Rakepick didn't leave time for appreciation. "Mr. Kim, you're up!"

The Ravenclaw hurried forward. _Crack!_ The wolf plush became a large sheet of paper, declaring that Jae Kim had failed all of his NEWT exams. Nearly the entire class burst into laughter. Hermione winced; poor grades had once been _her_ greatest fear.

 _Crack!_ The failed grades all became Outstandings.

"Miss Karasu!"

An auburn-haired Ravenclaw girl stepped forward hesitantly. _Crack!_ The boggart shifted into the form of Merula Snyde.

Several people laughed. The real Merula was smirking from where she stood, watching her boggart-self advance on the other girl, relishing in the idea that people feared her so much. "They used to be best friends," Penny whispered in Hermione's ear. "Until Merula started abusing their relationship; she practically tortured poor Tulip." Merula made Pansy look almost normal.

 _Crack!_ Boggart-Merula tripped in heels that were too high for her, wearing a large, frilly, lacy dress that looked like something Hermione would find on a Muggle porcelain doll. The class roared with laughter, while the real Merula scowled darkly at the Ravenclaw.

"Haywood!"

Penny swallowed nervously and reluctantly traded places with Tulip. The girly Merula _cracked_ and shifted, rearranging itself into a lump on the floor.

Penny screamed, and Alice placed a hand over her mouth in horror. Several other students looked disturbed, even a few of the Slytherins.

The lump was actually the body of a small girl, curled into herself on the floor. She looked five or six, her blond hair and blue eyes strikingly similar to Penny's. One of her arms bled profusely as she wailed over and over, " _It's all your fault! Why didn't you save me, Penny?_ "

The blond Gryffindor couldn't seem to move. Hermione could see Penny's legs trembling where she stood, her wand loosely pointed at the boggart and eyes wide with horror. She made a choking sound. "...s-stop," she begged, tears springing from her eyes. "I..." She closed her eyes at the sight and covered her ears, but the words continued and Penny appeared to be on the verge of a complete breakdown.

" _You could have stopped him, Penny!_ " the boggart continued to cry, venom seeping into its voice. " _But instead you were too scared, and now I'm worthless, rotting away in a Muggle orphanage somewhere with no magic and no memory, all because my pathetic sister was too selfish–_ "

There was a resounding _crack!_ even though Penny had not uttered the defense charm. Remus had come forward, stepping in front of Penny and shifting the boggart's focus. It had changed into some sort of large snake with two heads, one at each end. Remus turned to comfort his housemate, but Penny flinched. She looked at him, still terrified, and then, as if coming out of a daze, she spun on her feet and fled the classroom, leaving her school things behind.

"If you don't beat the boggart, you won't pass the assignment," Rakepick called after her without care.

"Seriously?" Remus growled at the professor, gesturing at the door after Penny.

Rakepick eyed him with little interest. " _Seriously_ ," she answered. "Now are you going to take care of your boggart, or will I have to fail you as well, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus narrowed his eyes, but then he squared his shoulders and faced the serpent. With a determined " _Riddikulus!"_ he forced the snake into the form of a mere shoelace. Facing the professor in a daring manner, he stared at her coolly before he turned away, hastily following after Penny and letting the door close behind him.

"How quaint," Rakepick droned. Then she immediately barked, "Miss Snyde!"

Still looking as nasty as ever, Merula regarded the boggart with disgust as it began to change shape.

 _Crack!_ The shoelace became a tall, looming man wearing a bizarre ensemble which included a beret, a long-sleeved striped top, and dark red pants. His teeth stuck out at odd angles as he wheezed, and he smelled filthy, as if he hadn't bathed in years. He looked oddly familiar, though Hermione could not fathom _where_ she would have seen this man. He raised his arm, and she noticed he he held a knife in his right hand.

He lunged abruptly, straight for Merula, raising the blade to strike at her face. " _Riddikulus,_ " she chanted, pointing her wand right before the boggart landed a blow.

With a _crack_ , the creepy man shifted into a magazine that fell to the floor. It was a comic strip, and Hermione remembered just where she knew him from. Ron had been an avid collector of _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_ in his youth. Only this comic read, _The Frightening Tales of Martin Miggs, the Mad Mudblood_.

The comic was apparently very popular, as a handful of other students all had the same boggart. Peter Pettigrew successfully changed his Martin-boggart into a mouse, laughing with glee. As he rejoined James, Hermione heard him say, "I used to have nightmares about that bloke coming to steal my blood!" She glared darkly at him, even if he hadn't really meant anything by it. She still didn't like Peter, even if this boy was nothing like the evil man she had met. And now to learn that he and other students read scary comics about Muggles coming to perform Blood-Theft? The whole idea made her own blood boil.

James was next, and as he strode confidently up to the front, Hermione was reminded of her third year, when Harry had nearly faced the boggart himself. At the time, she had been worried some sort form of Voldemort would appear, or perhaps the basilisk. Later though, Harry had confided that he was actually afraid of the Dementors. She waited to learn what James Potter feared most.

The mouse _cracked_ and disappeared, only to be replaced by a small pillow. Hermione knew she wasn't the only one leaning forward to see what lay atop the cushion: a single golden ring. She had no idea what that could mean, and James didn't look particularly afraid; rather, he frowned and let out a disappointed sigh before muttering the defense spell. _Crack!_

"Dagworth-Granger!" Professor Rakepick commanded.

Hermione smiled at James when they passed, though he didn't respond and continued to look doleful. It was nearly the same look Harry got whenever he thought of his parents, or Sirius, or when he watched with longing as the Weasleys and Grangers had welcomed back Ron and Hermione after the school year had ended.

She had momentarily forgotten the boggart, which _cracked_ and faded from the spinning Sickle James had envisioned. It shifted into a much bigger form, and Hermione had to stop herself from taking several steps backward.

There was a collective gasp from a few of her classmates when the towering form of Lord Voldemort appeared. They certainly didn't know their Minister was behind those red eyes and snake-like features, but even without recognition, Voldemort had always been terrifying. Hermione's hand twitched reflexively, her wand ready to cast any number of spells at the evil creature. _It's just a boggart, remember. No need to panic, just cast the counter-spell and everything will be fine–_

Voldemort threw his long robes back to reveal the thing he held in his arms, and Hermione croaked.

Harry Potter lay there as dead as the day Hagrid had brought his body back from the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione couldn't move. She wasn't so much afraid as... Aside from photos, this was the first time she had seen Harry's face in weeks, and _this_ was a particular image that often plagued her nightmares. She knew it was only a boggart, but it was so eerily realistic, and the last time she had seen Harry, they were dueling for their lives at the train station, and she didn't even know if he had made it out alive...

" _Where's your precious Potter to save you now?_ " Voldemort cackled coldly, dumping Harry's body at her feet.

Her eyes bulged at the sound of his voice and the words that came from his mouth, and Hermione snapped into action. She couldn't have the boggart revealing information her classmates shouldn't hear. " _Riddikulus!_ " she shouted with more force than necessary. The boggart momentarily shifted into a familiar golden cup, a large fang protruding from the center as it melted. Then, the boggart _cracked_ one final time before disappearing altogether in a puff of smoke. It had been bested for the time being and had disappeared, though it surely would turn up somewhere in the castle sooner or later.

Everyone stared at the spot where the boggart had vanished, too shocked for words by what they had just seen. Even Professor Rakepick was quiet, though not for long. After a moment or two, she began to move the desks back to their original places.

"Since Miss Dagworth-Granger has robbed the rest of the class of our lesson, those of you who were unable to partake today must return next week with three feet of parchment on the history and nature of boggarts, and how to defend against them."

The few students affected threw a collective dirty look in Hermione's direction. However, she was hardly paying attention. As the class ended, she quickly gathered up her bag and left the room, hoping to put some distance between herself and the others. Unfortunately, the Slytherins eagerly followed, laughing and jeering about her boggart.

"The thing you fear most is the death of James Potter?" Merula taunted, her friends laughing.

Hermione whipped around. "Of course I don't fear the death of–" But she stopped, realizing with horror that her entire class had seen what they assumed to be a scary-looking wizard carrying the body of James Potter. She couldn't correct them, as Harry didn't exist. And since no one knew of Harry, everyone had assumed it was James. This was turning into a convoluted mess.

One of the Slytherin boys turned back to the classroom, where students were still leaving. "Oi, Potter! Better up here quick, your girlfriend's worried sick!" The group jeered loudly again.

Curious as to whom James was dating, Hermione spotted him paused in the doorway, looking confused at the Slytherins' antics, until he locked eyes with her. Peter elbowed him with a knowing grin, and James seemed slightly embarrassed. Worse, Regulus Black trailed out of the classroom behind them and appeared to have heard everything. He was eyeing Hermione with an intense regard, and out of everyone around her, she felt the most uncomfortable under Regulus's heavy gaze. She promptly returned to her task of getting as far away from the classroom as fast as she could.

* * *

Although she could somewhat avoid the Slytherins, she couldn't outrun her own housemates.

"Gryffindor girls' meeting, _now_ ," Marlene dictated, hissing at James and Peter when they tried to sit next to Hermione at the lunch table. Peter held up his hands in surrender, and although James was doing his best to catch Hermione's eye, she pretended to be unaware and focused her sights upon the plate in front of her. Eventually he gave up and headed farther down the table to join Peter.

"So..." Marlene drew out the word. "Want to explain what happened back in class?"

"She doesn't have to talk about it if she doesn't want to," Alice chided. Then she added, "However, Hermione, I will admit the entire thing was a bit strange."

"Too right. What _was_ that thing, anyway? Looked like a cross between a snake and an inferius," shuddered Marlene. "And then bloody James Potter's body?"

Hermione picked at her food. Things could be worse. The boggart could have shifted into Bellatrix carving words into her arm, or a basilisk with even half of its abilities, or a younger and more recognizable Tom Riddle, among others. At least this form of Voldemort's was unknown here. Unfortunately, she couldn't go around correcting everyone by telling them that, no, it hadn't been James Potter's body, rather, his son's– No, that would never work. Best to just work with what she had.

"It was a nightmare," she answered with some honesty, avoiding the questioning looks from the other two girls. "It was just a nightmare, that's all."

There was more gravity and sadness in her voice than she would have liked, and they must have heard it because Alice patted her shoulder, and Marlene looked apologetic, and the tension eased. Looking to change the subject, Hermione glanced to the empty seat beside Alice where Penny's bookbag lay. "Umm...?"

"She'll be okay," replied Alice, glancing at the bag she had collected when the other girl hadn't returned. "This happens at least once a year. Remus went after her; he'll make sure she's all right. Penny... she doesn't have a very happy childhood." Her voice grew quiet. "Her little sister was attacked by a Muggle when they were kids, and Penny has carried the guilt ever since."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Attacked by a Muggle... you mean–!?"

It couldn't be real, it was impossible. There couldn't actually be a thing such as Blood-Theft, right?

"From what I know, they went into town together. Penny had other plans, but her parents forced her to babysit," Alice informed, her voice regretful. "The sisters had a big argument during lunch, and Penny left to cool off. She was only gone for a moment round the corner, came running back when she heard her sister screaming..."

"So all those things the boggart said...?"

Marlene nodded sadly. "She doesn't like to talk about it, but Alice and I found out once. Her sister's trauma was so great... the decision was made to Obliviate her memories and place her in a Muggle orphanage."

"That's awful!" Hermione cried. She lowered her voice after several heads turned their way. "I can't believe her parents would do that! That _Penny_ would do that!"

Alice shook her head, her eyes wet. "Penny didn't know," she whispered. "They didn't tell her until later. She came back at the start of our second year completely changed. It took months before she opened up again."

"Even now, she still feels guilty. She does fine most days, others... not so much," Marlene added. "And we still haven't figured out why she stopped talking to Remus."

Alice agreed. "She avoided the lot of us those first months... but by the end of the year, she was speaking with us again. Except for Remus. She avoided him at all cost and then some. Whatever happened between them must have really affected her. They didn't patch things up until the end of fifth year."

That explained the girl's jumpiness, somewhat. Hermione was troubled by everything they had just discussed, most of all the Blood-Theft. She couldn't believe it, refused to. There had to be another explanation. No way had Lily Potter committed Blood-Theft, of that much she was certain. And Penny's sister too, she may have been attacked, but she couldn't have had her magic stolen. It wasn't possible.

Of course, werewolves being nonexistent was impossible too, to her prior knowledge.

Doubt began to swirl in the corners of her mind.

* * *

They didn't see Remus again until returning to the common room after dinner.

He was sitting in front of the fire, slumped on a chair and looking much more like the haggard Lupin Hermione had known before. The girls and Marauders quickly crowded him.

"How is she?" Alice wanted to know, biting her lip with worry.

"Everything okay?" asked James, patting his friend on the shoulder.

Marlene said, "Did you two shag and make up, then?" Five pairs of eyes shot to her. " _What_? Just asking..."

Still glaring at Marlene, though his cheeks had darkened, Remus addressed Alice's question. "She's doing better, but not great. I was eventually able to convince her to see Madam Pomfrey. Penny made herself quite ill before I was able to find her."

Hermione tilted her head. "Ill...?"

Remus nodded. "Firewhiskey. I still can't figure out how she convinces the house elves to give her a bottle _every time_."

They discussed Penny's condition a bit longer in hushed tones, not wanting to draw the attention of their fellow Gryffindors. Hermione, however, could feel at least one pair of eyes on her back. She knew it to be Regulus without even turning around.

One by one over the next few hours, they all went to bed. Penny would be spending the night in the Infirmary, and, the events having taken their toll upon him, Remus went to bed first. Alice and Marlene followed a bit later, with Peter not far behind. All too soon, Hermione found herself alone with James.

"So..." he said awkwardly.

She had no interest to chat further about the day's events. "I suppose I should get to bed, too," she replied, trying not to sound rude.

"Hermione."

His forceful tone made her pause in the gathering of her things. She looked up to find James watching her with curiosity, determination, and something else she couldn't read. "Your boggart was my _dead body_. You can't expect me to _not_ ask."

Fair enough. She had the decency to look guilty. "I... I'd, err, rather not talk about it... It was just a nightmare." She repeated her words from earlier.

"Okay, fine," James accepted, not sounding content in the least. "Just know... if you ever _do_ want to talk, I'm here."

She nodded, understanding of his frustration and need for answers. However, she couldn't have a chat with him about it. She didn't have any sort of explanation that made sense. Although she had been the one to want to leave, James, sensing the discussion was over, had speedily packed his bag and headed up to bed. Hermione finished putting away her books and parchment a minute later, and then she stood and stretched, ready to forget this day had ever happened. Unlikely, but a girl could hope.

Hermione picked up her bag and headed for the girl's staircase, only to find her path blocked by none other than Regulus Black.

 _Fuck to Merlin_.

"Did I have some sort of Black summoning charm cast upon me?" she snapped, tapping her foot with impatience. "Or there another reason you keep bothering me? Don't think I haven't noticed your staring."

Regulus did not answer, though his face suggested it was a possibility.

"I'm warning you, stay away from my brother," he repeated.

She rolled her eyes. "Listen up, you dolt, since my words apparently haven't permeated your thick skull. _I. Am. Not. Interested. In. Sirius._ "

"Oh right," he answered smoothly. "You're interested in James Potter now."

Hermione scowled in confusion. " _What?_ No! Why would you even–" Of course. The boggart. Fuck. No wonder her housemates were oh too interested; they thought she had a crush on James, and her greatest fear was losing him! Merlin have mercy. Irritated thoroughly, she pushed Regulus out of her way. He put up little resistance, but recovered fast.

She had one foot on the steps before his hand smacked itself against the wall next to her. She flinched only slightly, not having anticipated such aggression from Regulus, whose entire arm was now preventing her from climbing any further.

He leaned in, somewhat pinning her against the stone. "You'd do well to keep your distance from my brother, I'm serious." He was threatening her, even though his tone suggested they might be conversing about the weather.

His persistence was pointless. Then his words caught up with her.

Hermione snorted with laughter, unable to help the snickers that escaped her mouth. Regulus frowned, thinking she was laughing at him. Well, she was, technically, but not in the way he had assumed.

"No," she replied, giggles still tumbling forth, "you're Regulus."

Thrown by her silly word play in the middle of their heated conversation, he lowered his guard enough for Hermione to duck under his body and continue her journey upstairs. However, he wasn't quite through with her yet, and Regulus once again impeded her actions, this time grabbing her arm after she had made it up two more steps.

His hand was large and firm, and very warm wrapped around her bare skin. His grip wasn't quite a vice, but if she wanted to break away, Hermione knew she would have to make a significant effort. There were only a few people left in the common room, and none of them seemed to have noticed their little act yet.

Looking down at the second son of Black, who was starting to make her genuinely angry, she hissed, " _Let go._ "

Regulus leaned in closer. Although she was three steps above him, he was barely shorter than her at the moment. "Sirius is not someone you should take lightly," he warned again.

"I think after what happened at the beginning of the year," she responded coolly, referring to her first bout with Sirius, "I made that quite clear. I don't know _what_ your problem is, or why you even want to protect him from me, seeing as how he treats you–" and here, Regulus's eyes narrowed, "–but you can sod off, assured that _I_ am done with _him_!"

She yanked hard and his grip slackened, allowing Hermione to jerk away from his hold. Regulus looked surly and defiant and somewhat haughty, but she turned her back on him and headed off to bed.

As she fled up the staircase, Hermione swore she heard Regulus ask darkly, "But is _he_ done with _you_?"

* * *

.

* * *

 _Here it is, the long-awaited chapter five!_ _I'd been chipping away at it, little by little, over the past year. My new job leaves me with even less time to myself than before, and I was also working on a few other stories here and there. I deleted the chapter preview a few days ago, and for some reason that caused the story to be marked as 'updated' even though I hadn't actually added a new chapter. Sorry for any confusion that caused! Hopefully now, notifications go back to normal._

 _Professor Rakepick and the (random) students are all from Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery. Penny Haywood does have a little sister, though I have deviated from the game's backstory with her. A few things about the boggart in case anyone is wondering... in the books, Seamus's boggart turns into a shrieking banshee, so I find it reasonable that boggarts can speak. Harry's Dementor boggart also made him feel cold and remember terrible things just like real Dementors, so I imagine they could possess at least a fraction of their taken form's abilities/powers._

 _Next chapter is already in the works... featuring a bit of Quidditch!_


End file.
